


Doctor Who - The Hour - AU -Choices we make

by Samstown4077



Series: Randall Brown - Head of News [3]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), The Hour
Genre: Angst, Conspiracy, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Thriller, bad vs good, i don'T know what this is anymore, living a relationship, went from romance to tom clancy very quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 94,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4339505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new story about Randall Brown, working journalist at a weekly magazine, and Clara Oswald, working as new internship. A story about falling into a relationship and the problems that come with it, about finding out what one wants, how to tell the other. About misunderstandings and being scared of something new. Romantic!Whouffaldi</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01_Randall knows

**Author's Note:**

> Here it comes, my new Randall Brown / Clara Oswald story. This story was original written for another fandom, I never published it, but it had more or less the same topic. Older man/Younger woman, aside I had to rewrite a lot (and still have) as it played in a total different environment.  
> This time it will not be about finding a relationship, like I did in Collide, it will be more about, falling into a relationship and not knowing what to do with it. Is it an affair? Is it more? What does the other think? All the troubles one has. Also the age gap stuff and Randall being Randall and Clara being Clara. So I wouldn't proclaim that this is a slow burn, there will be an M-rated chapter soon.  
> This is not Collide, this is another approach, I tell this story differently, I explore the characters further. So it might help you to read Collide, but this is not a sequel or something.  
> I wrote a lot of Randall stuff, and when you want to get into the character I think it makes sense to read the other stuff. The stories are not connected, but the character development is something that is like a red string in all my stories. In every story there is a bit more about Randall, another facet and so on, because if not, I would tell the same story over and over.  
> If you like to do this, Collide is the one to start with, then the Randall/Reader stuff, followed by the Randall/Bel fic. 
> 
> For everyone who has read the Randall/Bel fic, she appears here too, but is with Freddie (who I let survive), and they never had a relationship. For later chapters and reasons, I needed another main character, and couldn't find a fitting character, and I thought it would be idiotic to invent a new character for that purpose. 
> 
> It is not necessary to have seen the Hour, it helps of course. I will not repeat telling you about Randall's past, that happens mainly in Collide - this fic plays in the now time - of course I will mention some stuff from his adjusted timeline for the now-time, and I am not sure yet, but I will only hint the Lix/Randall stuff. It will not be dealt with it here - has happened all in Collide. 
> 
> For Clara, she is not with Danny, never was. She had been a teacher and has now switched to journalism. Danny Pink is part of this story, and I hope I will not treat him as "a plot device". 
> 
> What else? I don't know. There will be m-rated chapter, I am going to warn you for it. Everything else is just a big question mark for me too.
> 
> Enjoy now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ties some lose ends from the end of the Hour - like what has happened with Freddie. Where does work Randall now, and which characters will be involved in this fic. Setting the tone and stuff. Again, don't concentrate too much onto the workplace, it will again more about characters, but of course I try to write a convincing environment.

It had been three years since Randall Brown had left The Hour again. It had not been an easy decision, but it had been one, that had needed to be done. Things had changed so much, and with everything that had happened he had found himself one day standing in his office, deciding it was time to move on.

It helped that the BBC had many communication media's, and after what had happened they accepted his inquiry to switch to somewhere else. He was good with what he did, and so the BBC was not brave enough to let him go - what he threatened between the lines.

Randall had made his money, he was 57, he didn’t need to work another five years, he could retire, move back to Scotland, to the country and enjoy the free time that would come with it. Enjoy the sea, markets, good coffee, and a good book.

The only thing that really stopped him, was his inner verve for his job. He loved doing what he did, and he not really wanted to stop. He was a journalist to the core - one that not simply could stop working.

So he had settled down as the Head of News, with the “ _Weekly News Report”_ , a weekly magazine with a big presence in the social media too. He had a good team around him, and he had asked Bel Rowley to come too, sensing she could need a switch of jobs too, after the incident with Freddie Lyon. He was fond of her, she was a good producer, and he was an animal of habit, and why waste good potential.

After a lunch with him, she agreed, knowing for herself, that it might wasn’t the best idea to stay at The Hour. Even after Freddie had survived. Sometimes it was better to move on and the change helped her to deal with Freddie’s six month long rehab. After that he was back to his old self, had finally made up his mind to marry Bel and worked as a freelance in London.

With the new job, a few responsibilities came to Randall’s door step. Not seldom they had long term internships, fresh from university. Men and women trying to get the first real life experience in the job as a journalist, trying to leave a mark, and when they where good enough they might got offered a job as freelancer or even a regular job after twelfth month.

In consultation with Bel, Randall chose every six month two to three new internships, that were willing to work for lousy money for them. As they had a good reputation, he had to go through dozens of candidacies and interviews every six month. Nothing he liked, but the people sitting in front of him reminded him how he had been once, when he was in his twenties. All eager, interested, in need to do what he loved most.

Randall didn’t care for marks, he not always invited the best, but the ones that made an impression in their application and so it came, that he had invited Clara Oswald six month ago.

A young woman of 29, who had worked for a couple of years as an English teacher. She had studied journalism and English and had graduated with best marks, but instead of going into the media, she had for some reason decided to teach. Randall had found it odd, and on a whim he had invited her, to find out what was the reason for it.

The young woman had convinced him with her ability to leave an impression, with her wit, her humour and her bossy nature.

He had invited another candidate, a man called Danny Pink, he was impressed with his former career as soldier. Randall did as if there was only one position, only to make them tick a bit. And to tickle them even more, he did as if the money they would get was based on negotiations and not based on given rates.

Clara won the job with her remark, she would work for what Mister Pink would get, not willing to get lesser money as a woman, for the same work and before Randall could say anything to it, she gave him a smug smile and told him, he could give Danny and her the amount of what he would give a woman, so they both would get a job. “No one can pay the rent with the money, but it would be equal and we both would have a job.”

She hadn’t meant it serious, but she seemed not able to hold back her sense of justice and he had liked it and so he gave her and Danny Pink the job as new interns. Bel only had shook her head over his method, but soon knew, he had picked the right candidates.

Randall was not only made to pick them out, he had to look after them, coordinate their weekly schedule. Work out in which part of the office they had to work, which shift and when they had to go to some external seminars and not to forget writing valuations for them.

He had to admit he could live without doing this, as it made him spent a few late evenings in the office, to write his reports, so he wouldn’t lose track. Also, he liked the teaching part, liked to advice, to share his insights, his knowledge and it was flattering that young people wanted to know about it from him.

Randall had grown up in Scotland and had left his home as soon as he was legally allowed to do so. He moved to London, found a job as a runner in a little daily newspaper, to breath in the first journalistic air ever. Quickly he had tasted blood and knew he wanted to become a full time journalist, not only a runner or a freelance, he wanted to be part of a big newspaper or media company.

He got lucky, and an older journalist took young Randall under his wings, and so the years passed and he made himself a name. He had never studied journalism, the lack of it he redeemed with relentless diligence, hard work and his god given intelligence. Five years after his start as a runner, the BBC picked him out of many candidates and he paid the trust back with good work, and dangerous work, no one else wanted to do. The Yugoslav wars.

##

Danny and Clara worked good together, they had a certain harmony and seemed to spur on each other, and so Randall tried to keep them together. They had the same age, and had both a background so very different and he thought they both could learn from each other.

After they had immersed into the work process and the different departments, he saw that both of them didn’t need control all the time. They did good work without being supervised all the time, and so he could concentrate on his own job and leave them be.

From time to time he made one or both of them work with him on a project, gave them a topic for the next edition and checked back with them how to structure the article, where to find special information and taking a look over drafts they had to hand in to him.

Danny, - Dan the soldier man - how Bel called him fondly, and the young man blushed literally every time she did it, was the more carrying, the one who took his article of “ _Institutionalized children - and their future”_ very much to the heart, spending long days around different children homes and made close bonds with kids in foster care.

His article was heart-warming and emotional, and Randall guessed that somewhere in his past there was a connection. He didn’t asked Danny about it, as it shouldn’t - in his opinion - his business. Randall knew Danny had served in Afghanistan and it made him remember his own times in Croatia. Bel once had asked carefully how the experience had been for him and Randall had done everything to seem busy with some papers, aside he was listening attentively.

“We did what we were trained for,” Danny had begun, frowning toward the wall. And Randall had looked up, seeing a pain in the young man’s eyes and he knew Bel’s question would either make him spout out all and everything like a confession, or he would end the sentence with a short, clear statement, and would imply that there was no more to say about. Danny went for the latter, “We did, what we had to do, and that’s it. There is nothing big to talk about.”

To end the awkward silence Randall jumped to the man’s side, asking him about his article, and Danny had nodded gratefully.

Clara was the more forceful, pushing the given subject always a bit further as necessary. Sometimes a bit too far, he thought, but held back with his opinion, letting her make her own experience. They both not only should experience success, also failure. Something that was necessary in the end, for becoming better.

Randall only intervened when he believed it would be for the bad of the magazine, and even then he only did it with a few words, hints, suggestions.

Bel had told him once, he was good with those hidden manipulations. Hidden under sophisticated words and his faint Scottish resonance. He always only smirked at Bel, when she pointed it out, remembering telling her a story about a monster under a bed, and how one simply cut off the legs off of the bed to make the monsters stop bothering.

Randall spoke in riddles, in metaphors and in suggestions - not in commands. One who rather told his old news speaker that the light came a bit hard around his face, instead of telling him off for being almost too late and that he wouldn’t accept his mood for drinks, women and parties.

Danny was more responsive for Randall’s way, the former soldier was able to grasp the concept of Randall. The restrained behaviour, that inherited a unique style of leading. Danny had seen it in one or two leading officers in his past career. He was no one for searching the confrontation with Randall, not directly, more in the hidden. In his texts and Randall let him do it.

Clara wasn’t. She was one for directness, one for clear words. There were days, she couldn’t deal well with Randall’s little games, his metaphors, his calming being. There weren't many moments, Randall jumped out of his skin, and they only had witnessed it once since they had started working for him.

When they had a young man in for an interview. They were making an article over ‘ _Daily Racism in bread-and-butter jobs’_ and Randall made Danny do the interview, with Clara at his side.

They had an argument, Danny, Clara, and the young man, and it was about to tip over, and so Randall stepped in, making the man stand up from his seat, and for once his both internships saw how the stern face of Randall Brown switched into a stare only a real predator could give.

A glare, a fire - one finger lingering by the chest of the prey, only hoovering, not touching.

His voice still calm, filled with force, not allowing any back talk, “I knew a young man like you. Filled up with hate. It just became so damn exhausting!” there was a dramatic silence and then he told him to go and Clara and Danny stared at him in a mix of awe and being stunned - in a frightened way.

It stayed the only outburst of Randall Brown in presence of them, what didn’t mean there weren’t more behind closed doors. In the conferences with Bel Rowley and the BBC bosses, were no one else was allowed.

Danny moved on from this, but Clara seemed to feast on what she had seen, and had developed a little kick in the need to find out what would make Randall flip, because she liked to find out more about him. Curious creature she was.

Danny guessed, it was her teacher persona, the want to study, to understand, but she had forgotten that Randall was now the teacher and she the student, and not the other way round. She had smiled at him, telling him it wouldn’t stop her.

“You have too much time at hand?” he wanted to know, not understanding, why she suddenly found such much interest in Randall Brown.

“No, you know that,” she had shrugged it off. “We are journalists, isn’t it natural to show interest in the facets people inhabit?”

“I accept that Mister Brown,” Danny never called him Randall, while Clara did all the time, “is a mystery on its own. Also, he might is just a boring, old journalist, who likes to keep away from personal interaction. Or he is totally different at home, having affairs, three illegitimate kids and listens to rock music.”

Clara rose both eyebrows at him, and tried to suppress the huge smile on her face, waiting for him to realize that he had already invested more thoughts in Randall Brown as she had.

“Damn,” he put down his papers. “You manipulated me into wondering about him! Also, I will not try to find out. If you like that, I will not stop you.”

Randall knew of course, because Randall knows everything, even he doesn’t really knows. It was his perfect sense as a journalist, he felt Clara’s little teasings, the words she started to use against him. Not in a bad way.

He had sensed from the beginning, that his way of being seemed to tease her. She needed the emotion, he seldom delivered, and after she had seen there was emotion in him, she needed more of it. Clara wanted her boss be emotional, as it would push her own persona, and that’s why she started to try to find out what made him tick. He ignored her tries deliberately, knowing it would make her rage deep inside. It would make her tick.

Like him, she didn’t show it either, it only got expressed in little huffs, a twitch of her eyebrow and the tone of her voice when she wandered off into her old teacher voice. When she didn’t look, Randall gave her one of his rare smiles, self-satisfied that he manipulated her into a better journalist. Giving her the emotions she wanted, without opening up.

“He wouldn’t be a General,” Danny had told Clara once, after she had one of her little outbursts. “A Major maybe. He is good with tactic, good with seeing the picture, even we don’t see it. Yeah, definitely a Major.”

“He makes me mad, sometimes,” she had slumped back into the booth of the bar, she was visiting regularly with Danny after the workday was done.

“And that’s maybe exactly what he wants to do to you,” Danny had only smirked sipping from his beer and there Clara finally was aware how she had overseen the obvious. Randall Brown knew.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the moment. I can't tell you how quickly I will update this one. Some may know I have another multi chapter fic running and right now a Colepaldi marathon till mid August I have to fulfill. The Story is mostly planned out, as it is - as said- already written, but I have to translate it and of course bits and pieces will be added and as I know myself, this whole thing will get out of hand once again. Like usual! ;)
> 
> Stay tuned!


	2. 02_Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara has an idea for an article about corruption and Randall knows trouble will come ahead, but lets her go on. He can't know how much trouble will come up. It might chance things between them forever. (okay that sounds more dramatic as it is!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little background info; right now the only thing I do is translating this darn fic into this universe and that's the most unnerving thing I have ever done! Also I will stop soon, and then will write this story detached from the one fic I have based this one on. So, to be honest, I have no fricking clue where this story will go. I have some nice scenes in mind.  
> Also I need to warn you, very soon we will reach some m-rated chapters, and they will be a bit more m-rated as in "Collide" so if you feel uncomfortable and might stop reading this fic, also I will write those scenes in separate chapters and it is nothing too graphical, so you can quit them without loosing much of the plot. As said, those two will tumble quickly into a relationship and have to figure how to deal with it.   
> Also holiday season is approaching, so this chapter could be possible the last for a bit, as I am going to see family next week and mid of August I go camping for 1,5 weeks.

Randall stood by the blackboard in the conference room, shoving some magnets into order, while reading a news article that was pinned down onto it. His fingers cupped around the round black magnets and shoved them slowly over the surface into the corner, lining them up in a row without looking. His fingertips did the seeing for him, while his mind concentrated on the words. It helped him relax, it helped him breath.

Clara stood by the door frame, already about to approach him, when she stopped herself. It was a rare moment that allowed her to watch him. Watch Randall Brown in his natural habitat maybe? The dark blue suit he wore fit him perfectly as ever, as it was a warm day, he had taken off his jacket, that was nowhere to be seen, probably hanging in his office. Neatly on a hanger in his locker. She once saw him fiddle with some very resistant lint for like five minutes in a conference on his sleeve, while Bel was talking. Clara had sat across from him, and was unable to take her eyes of him, biting her lower lip in amusement, while he got all annoyed over it.

Now he stood there with a white button up shirt, and a black waistcoat and a blue lining, his long fingers sorting the all black magnets. She always imagined that they had been come in multi colours, and Randall couldn’t stand the disaster of so many colours and had replaced them one day with all black ones. She couldn’t be sure if it was true. Also she liked the little head canon she had for it.

“So what is it, I can help you with, Clara?” he suddenly asked without turning around, pushing the last magnet into place.

She toppled with her breath. She wasn’t aware she had made a sound, and frowned for a moment over his spider senses. When she kept quiet he turned around, one hand casually in his pockets, a faint smile on his face - smug.

He had called her Miss Oswald in the beginning, one day he simply had switched to Clara, not knowing why. They had discussed one of her articles and as usual she had tried to overrule him and to give the discussion an end, he had said “Clara!” and he never was more satisfied with the silence that had echoed through the room for a few seconds, before she had found a grip again, and had weight her possibilities, if she was courageous enough to switch from Mister Brown to Randall. To his surprise she settled for none of it.

When alone with him, she never used his last name again or his first name either. When with others she stuck to Mister Brown and he found himself tempted to call her Miss Oswald again, but he stayed with her first name and to avoid eyebrow raising he started calling Mister Pink Danny, but never when he was with him alone.

It was sort of complicated, he thought.

“I wanted to show you something, an article I work at since a while,” she strode in, placing out some papers and notes on the table, giving the blackboard one last look. Appreciating the lined up magnets, guessing it would last half a day and then they would be shoved around again.

When she looked at him, she saw him looking at her, how she had eyed the blackboard and she only gave him a smile, “I think I dug something up.”

It been a half year now since her recruitment and Clara came up with an idea of doing an article about corruption with a building firm, that were about to construct and build the new conference centre. She told Randall that she had taken interest in it a few month ago, and since then was digging for information and reliable contacts. She was slowly building up a big story and as it now was soon ready to go public, she wanted Randall to let her make it for the after next edition.

What Randall knew and what Clara deliberately not wanted to see, was, that there would be maybe success but also she would tickle some peoples nerves, whom wouldn’t be very happy about it.

“Such people usually tend not to sit there, Clara, and wait for a 29 year old girl to bring them to a fall,” he told her and could see how she visible disliked him calling her a girl. Also she got his point.

“I can take some harsh phone calls,” she said, arms akimbo, marking her ground, not seeing how Randall was about to let her walk right into a trap.

Clara had to admit she was taken by surprise that he let her do it without a big veto, she had braced herself for an argument, but the only thing he said was, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

With thin pressed lips, and a frown he nodded, “Fine. Do it then.”

Bel would later scold him for letting it happen like this, but he couldn’t foresee that there were people who would violate the free speech of press in such drastic ways.

A week later, after trying to get some statements from higher authorities, and with that making some noise about the upcoming article, Clara returned home to her apartment in the evening. It was short after ten, and she felt not only tired, also felt a headache coming up. So she decided to get a shower before getting to bed.

Stripping down to her underwear she placed her clothes over the sink and then went for her bedroom to get her pyjamas.

When she had came home, she hadn’t noticed that anything was different. The lock was in place and the door locked. It was silent and nothing hinted an intruder.

The masked intruder that had hid in her bedroom, grabbed her from behind and hurled her down to the floor. When she had overcome the first shock, Clara was able to hit the man in the face, and got away, but her attacker was quicker and so they ended up rolling around the floor and it ended with Clara having a knife at her throat, and the warning to better back off from her article.

“You play a dangerous game, bitch!” and the knife trailed down between her breasts and Clara reckoned with the worst, but then the attacker jumped up and left her where she was.

Under shock and in tears she sat twenty minutes sobbing in the corner and only then was able to call Bel Rowley to tell her what had happened.

Bell called the police and called Danny as moral support, and also Randall to tell him what had happened to his internship, and it should have ringed a bell there, what a miserable head of news he was, but he was too distracted. Perhaps even shocked by what he heard what had happened.

The police couldn’t find any traces, no fingerprints, nothing. The only thing Bel could do, was to bring Clara into a hotel, where she would stay for a few days, till they had decided what to do with the article and what to do with her.

Clara Oswald was no one who could be shocked easily, but being threatened in one's own home, all vulnerable and reduced to a thing, could leave a mark. Danny and Bel gave her best to comfort her, pulling her into their arms, while Randall stood there, watching over the scene in her apartment.

When she had tried to get away, a bottle of wine had fallen to the ground, some chairs were flipped over and he felt anger arise. Anger that people had no more moral these days.

The next day Randall entered the conference room and found Clara sitting at the table, working. The sight of her being here, made him even more angry.

“What are you doing here?” he barked and glared at her, unable to understand why she was not in her hotel, taking the day off as Bel had told her.

Clara swallowed, having not expected such a reaction from him, at least not before saying good morning. “I have work to do,” she answered strict, and tried not be afflicted by his tone.

“No, you have to take the day off, like Bel has told you!” he placed a folder he had in hand onto the table with much verve, his voice severe and Clara sensed an unforgiveness.

She was not in the mood to argue, as she had been not in the mood to stay in the sticky hotel room, all alone, away from the place she felt save most of the time. Why couldn’t he see it? Why couldn’t he understand?

“I have work to do!” she repeated with more demand, not carrying that he was her boss, and if he felt it so necessary for her to stay away, she thought, he had to do more than order her.

If he would order her, it would be the first time he would do such thing, using his status against her. They glared for a few seconds at each other, a battle of will, and then she decided to go back to her files, to her notes and wrote some words in a shaky handwriting. He wouldn’t be such a twat, she thought, and kept right.

Randall didn’t know what to do with her, with the situation. So he tried it again, more gently this time, “I really think you should take the day off, Clara, to get a grip again. After such-”

“I am fine,” she answered, not very gently, not looking up.

Heat of anger and disappointment ran through her. Yes, she was angry, not about him, more about herself. She was angry, that she was angry, and that she had been a mess after what had happened. She had hoped he would have understood, a tiny bit of hope there had been. Danny had, and Bel, why not he? He was her boss, he should be her mentor, he should be the one who looked after her, who understood. Why did she have such thoughts in the first place? It was just Randall Brown, a Caledonian ghost.

Perhaps her interest in the game of teasing, of finding out what would make him flip came now to the point of a vengeance.

“And yet-”

“-Randall!” the expression on his face got burned into her heart when she looked up. Like she had transformed into someone else in front of him. As if she had pulled a knife or a cruel trick. His mouth slightly open, his eyebrows developing a life of their own unsure if to built one line or two. He inaudible gasped at her.

It wasn’t clear to her, in this moment, she didn’t realize, that she indeed had pulled a trick. That she had made a discovery. Clara had found out what would make him flip, a single word, his name, but Clara was too overwhelmed.

“I am fine,” and with the words from her, he stepped back a little and Clara took her papers and left the room hurriedly.

Sour he pushed the chair, Clara had left askew, back into place. These days everything made him so angry, and he couldn’t deal with it. He not wanted to be angry, as he knew he should be something else, and he was angry, because he didn’t know what he should be. Or he did know deep in his heart, and was only to scared of it. There were many reasons obviously to be angry. He hated anger, it was such a strong emotion and strong emotions were not his thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I can I will update before leaving, but don't be disappointed if I don't. Right now, I have definitely too many writing projects. Stay with me!


	3. 03_Can't you see?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara makes a decision after being attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather short chapter. Sorry. The next few will be longer.

The guilt over it came later, then when Bel told him two days later to come to her office. It not happened often that Bel Rowley ordered her Head of News to her rooms, having this certain producer expression on her face, all angry and emotional.

“She told me, she want’s to quit,” Bel said, eyeing him attentively.

For a moment his facial expression slipped into a deep furring of his eyebrows, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Bel repeated mockingly. 

“Well, then,” he bit the inside of his cheeks, shoving his hands into his pockets, not giving any insight into his thoughts at all with that.

“Is this all you’re going to say?” she snapped, shoving some papers from left to the right, realizing unnerved that she had adapted his little OCDs when getting angry. 

He touched his tie, pursing his lips with a furrow of his brow, “What do you expect me to say?” 

“Randall, she is _your_ internship,” sometimes he probably needed a reminder for such things. 

Randall tried to get behind the words, to find the meaning, but he couldn’t. For Bel it was more likely that he not wanted. “So?”

“Jesus Christ!” it slipped Bel and a few papers fell down to the floor. “So do you want her to quit, then?” 

Randall watched till the papers had settled down on the floor, till the last rustling had faded away, “Of course not, but…,” he knew he wouldn’t fulfill Bel’s expectations, likewise he could keep quiet and wait for her lecture. 

“But?” she knew him all to well after four years of working together with him, and she wouldn’t let him go off the hook. Not this time. 

He huffed, it had left a mark in him as well. People threatening his subordinates, was not what he wanted. It bugged him. Threatening alone bugged him, it was a no go and yet it always had happened. Randall had know something like this would happen, and still had Clara let do it, thinking, it would not happen. A mistake on his side. It could have gone worse, a thought he blocked out, he not allowed, like so many things.

“I am sorry to say, but I am not her father - aside you point something similar out from time to time!” he slipped one hand out of his pockets and made a gesture into the room. “She is 29 years old, if she decides she wants to quit, then this is her decision.”

No, he was not her father, and he was glad he wasn’t. He would be an even worse father than a head of news, and he always had disliked that Bel pointed such thing out from time to time. Yes, maybe he could go as her mentor, but not as her father, as he had no father feelings at all for her or for Danny or anybody. Let alone the topic, as it was way too sensitive for him. 

Bel huffed, sometimes it was not easy to work with him. She knew he liked Clara, that he enjoyed her spirit and that he not really liked to see her go, but he was too stubborn, and too wide away from the situation to understand it yet. 

Randall was a trouper in the job, had seen all and everyone, had went through harsher situation than what had happened to Clara and over the years he had unlearned how empathy worked. “She got threatened, Randall. At home! Can’t you imagine she is scared, and unsure about all this now?”

“She said, she is fine,” he repeated what Clara had told him in one of her teacher bossy tones. He had tried! At least this it was, what he persuaded himself about. 

“Has she, yes?” Bel rolled her eyes, sometimes she missed Hector. He had been a drunk and a flirt but was easier to handle as Randall was in the moment. 

“And that’s why she slept in a hotel for the last three days and that’s why she told me, she wants to quit, three hours ago!” Bel pointed over dramatically to the clock behind him. He not wanted, but he turned around.

Swaying on the spot where he stood, he had to admit - silently - that she had a point. He not had wanted to see Clara’s discomfort with the situation, maybe he even had expected from her to be strong, stronger as he had been in his younger years. 

Not only maybe, he had expected it and Clara had sensed it and had played the strong woman - not for herself, but for him -, aside she was shaken by the happenings. He had done wrong and had treated her badly, and also he had to admit he wouldn’t like to see her go. 

“You,” he began, slowly stepping over his pride, “you want me to talk with her?”

“That would be _very_ lovely,” Bel answered the question, she hoped was more rhetorical, but one never could know with Randall. 

His reaction was a another furrow with his brow and the faintest pursing of his lips, as if he wanted to protest or tell her that he would talk with her, but if she still would decide to shout at him in her teacher voice again, playing the strong, he would put not much more effort into it as he had already done. 

Bel was surprised he not told her very insistent that he was not Clara’s nor Danny’s babysitter. Something she was sure he wanted to say, but the thick walls he had built to shield himself not only not allowed things to go in, they didn’t allowed him to let things out and Bel really hoped he would one day find someone who could tear a hole into those walls, because if not, he perhaps would get lost behind his shield. 

Lix had the potential to tear them down, but Bel knew that Lix was one of the reasons Randall had built them in the first place. In the end she was sure Randall would deal with Clara the right way, he was sometimes a bit too restrained, but he usually found his way and he would make Clara stay. They both had to learn a lesson. Randall more than Clara.

So, Randall left the office without saying much more about the topic, and vanished into his office. Sorting some books would help him clear his mind, to find words he would like to say to Clara. He was not good with it, feelings and emotions, but he liked her, she had the potential he saw in only a few people. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was again more of character insight and leading the way to upcoming events between Randall and Clara. As in my other stories already said, I try to update once more before I leave toward my vacation.


	4. 04_Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall reflects on what has happened with Clara and finally talks with her. Part One of a longer conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the beginning of a longer talk/scene between Randall and Clara. In the next few chapters it is only about them and less about the magazine and stuff. We will later return to the reasons for the attack on Clara and it will play a bigger role, but for now it's all Clara and Randall.

Randall sat a bit lost in his office chair, a pen in hand, placed onto the paper what he actually had wanted to sign. Instead of looking down at the paper, he looked out of the window, into the starting dusk.

It had been a long, and hard day. They had gotten back to the police about the incident with Clara, but they still hadn’t any clues and had told them, they probably will stop looking into it after a given time. They had recommended to change the locks and call 999 in case another stalker would come up.

“A stalker?” Randall had asked, almost losing his faith into the authorities. “That was not a stalker!”

“What do you want, Sir?” the officer had asked him a bit harsh. “24/7 police escort? Believe me, Sir, I would happily oblige, but I am lucky when I keep my sector roughly save. So, that’s the only advice I can give you and your daughter.”

“She is not my daughter!” Randall didn’t even know why he had stopped by at the police station when returning from an early lunch. He had shook his head, had said his thank you's and had left again. It was a shame.

The next thing was to call someone to change the locks in Clara’s apartment - on his cost, and he also sent over one of the runners from the office to clean up the mess. He thought it wouldn’t be good when Clara would return home and there was still wine spilled all over the place.

Then he talked with Bel what to do with the article of Clara and they decided to give it over to Freddie for a bit. So, they hoped, the impression ensured, as if the threat had worked out, while Freddie dug deeper in the background, and then they would come up with the article not in two issues but in three. Freddie didn’t mind, he was always into such “ _James Bond stuff”_ , how he called it lightly. Bel was of course a bit worried, but Freddie promised, that he would be smarter this time and he had a good helper at hand, who had the figure of a bulldozer and was also called Igor, and he was always good to play the game of “ _show of force”_.

Clara was not very amused. She didn’t voice it, instead she only looked at Bel, then at Randall, and nodded, “Okay.”

“Clara…,” he had begun, knowing how it was to let go of a story, that one had begun with much blood, sweat and tears. She had looked at him, somehow expectantly, waiting for him to fill the silence that had ensured after saying her name.

Looking over to Bel for a second, he knew he could have give her easily a speech about how sorry he was, about that it was saver, and that she was of course still the main head of the story. He could give her the ‘ _back to business’_ speech, and that was nothing he wanted. Hoping she would find behind the words, behind the sad look of his, he kept silent.

For a moment he thought she did. That she understood that he would do as much as he could for her, to keep the story with her, but that he was concerned about her safety and that he would never would forgive himself, when something serious would happen to her.

Then the impression had vanished with a blink, “As I said, okay.”

When she had left the office, Randall had turned to Bel, “I don’t think, she agrees with our decision.”

She had seized him up, “I really hope, her reaction doesn’t surprise you, Randall. As it is Clara,” Bel gave it a snide laugh. “Of course she is disappointed and doesn’t agree with it!”

Randall had pursed his lips, shoving his hands into his pockets, frowning down to the floor - his way of grumbling, “It was the decision that had to be made.”

“Have you talked with her?” Bel had changed the topic and saw his shoulder move suspiciously and concluded, “You haven’t.”

“I will,” he had turned around and had left.

Clara’s reaction, when she had called him by his first name for the first time, had irritated him. It had felt like she had used his own name like a weapon against him, to keep him quiet and it had worked well, so he considered that had been her idea.

He mused over the threat against her, the invading of her privacy. Not only that this had happened to her, his protégée, it also had revealed to him his inability as Head of News and as her boss.

The moment they had all stood in her apartment waiting for the police, he had made a mistake. 

Instead of carrying, he had stood there silent, only saying she would sleep for the next few days in a hotel. He hadn’t shown any empathy and had given comfort like Danny had done it in this moment - taking Clara into his arms. The young man had shown sympathy. Bel had blamed him all the right, he could have told her that he was sorry, and that he would try to help her with everything she needed.

He hadn’t and hadn’t listened to her, the little things between the lines, her behaviour and all that, that tried to reach out to him. Instead he had thought, that he was right in his action to tell her, to get over it, to take a few days off and get a grip again.

Now, at the end of it and at the end of the day he had realized, that he had not wanted to listen, exactly like Danny had accused him about, in a quiet moment.

Randall was a good Head of News and a good journalist. Equipped with investigative skills, a good feeling for news and when to send the right thing out. People envied him for it, but on a personal basis he was not a good boss. Not in the times when Freddie was almost killed and not when they had all the trouble with Hector. It bugged him.

His view fell onto the paper in front of him, the pen had drawn a blue line down to the edge of the table. The try of a signing or the picture of a two year old boy.

“Damn,” he muttered and placed the pen aside, throwing the paper unnerved into the shelf.

It was time to go. At home he would drink a cup of tea and listen to some music and convince himself that next time, he would do better.

The key of his car in hand, his coat over his arm, he locked his office and walked down the floor toward the exit. Passing the conference room, he saw there was still light. In believe no one was there, he was about to pass it thoughtless, when he saw a moving in the corner of his eyes.

“Clara,” his hand sweeping down his chest to check the fit of his tie and waistcoat. He knocked gently against the door frame, not sure if she had heard him. “Can I come in?”

She sat at the desk, typing something into the laptop, and when she realized it was him, she made a few quick clicks, and then closed the laptop, looking expectantly at him.

“Or are you busy, then I can come back tomorrow,” he said, being over polite, and something in him wanted to avoid the following conversation even when it meant that Bel would kill him for it.

“Funny isn’t it,” she began, leaning back in her stool, and he cocked an eyebrow at her in question. “Two days ago, you wanted to sent me back home, and now …” she had the trust in him, that he could end the sentence on his own.

His Adam's apple bobbed, it was hard to swallow over such a correct accusation. His head bowed slightly, avowing his guilt to her with this gesture. “Bel spoke with me.”

Clara thought about the endless possibilities of what Bel had spoken to Randall about, quickly narrowing it down to one thing, “Has she?” her eyes mocked him, and he gave her a short smirk that he was well aware of her sarcasm.

“You think about … quitting.”

There was no need to beat around the bush, Clara thought, also she was not in the mood to be more rude and sarcastic with him. He didn’t deserve it in the end - for many reasons, “Yes, I was just about to write the letter.”

His eyes flickered to the laptop, now catching how serious it seemed to be, “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“You think you are not good enough for the job? You think, you are not strong enough?”

“Something like that, yes,” she rubbed her chin, and stood up, her restlessness making her pace in front of him. “We all could see, that I was unable to deal with the job.”

“Clara, that is everything but true, you dealt very well with it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You got attacked at home, you got scared, it is normal to feel bad and wrecked after it. To feel frightened. It is not your fault.”

“Who’s fault is it then? The people who attacked me? Those who not want to have the article published? I don’t think it is that easy.”

“Journalism is not only black and white, Clara. Sometimes it is boring, sometimes it is easy, sometimes it is hard, exhausting work, and sometimes it is very hard business.”

“And that is what I don’t think I can do.”

“Of course you can-”

“-I am not you!” she blurted. “Don’t make me live up to your expectations!”

“W-What do you mean?” he stuttered, taken aback by it.

“I think you know,” Clara huffed, stopping in front of him. “Sometimes I think you want me to become like you - well not like you, but... ,” she couldn’t put it in words for a moment. “You probably would have walked up to the people, and had told them they could ‘ _stick it!’_ and you would have published your story already. You would have been more braver, and I think you had expected me to be like this. To be more… more… oh god I don’t know!”

“I… I never expected…,” he couldn’t be sure. He had seen the potential in her, and he had admired her for wanting to do the article and because he thought she would do it good, Randall had let her do it. If Danny would have come up with it, he might would have put his veto into it. His hesitation made her look up at him.

“You did, didn’t you?” she swallowed down some tears. “You did expect me to be stronger and braver. I can’t live up to this, Randall. I don’t want to. It might be better to go back to school. Teaching. That’s what I am good with it. The students are horrible sometimes, but none of them will attack me with a knife when I make them do an essay about Jane Austen,” she smiled sadly, and added; “hopefully.”

He was overwhelmed, bereaved of wise words and Clara expected something else from him, her boss, the mentor he should be, and he wasn’t in this moment.

For twenty seconds they looked at each other and Randall saw how she waited. Waited for him to say something meaningful, something that would make her stop making a mistake. Because when he wouldn’t stop her, no one would and she knew, he was the only opinion that mattered.

She wanted to live up to his expectations, desperately. Randall Brown had the power to stop her, to talk her out of this idiotic idea she had made on a whim and in turmoil, and unfortunately he didn’t.

“Actually, I thought, you would at least try to talk me out of this,” she broke the silence and her round, inflating eyes told him how huge the disappointment was in him. “Well, you made your statement.”

He stopped her when she was about to leave the room, “You really think I am brave?” his voice was full of disbelief for it.

She stopped, considered him, and then said, “I do.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I know you were in Croatia, I think that was a brave thing to do,” after that she wanted to leave the office, but Randall made a step into her direction and rose one finger.

“Clara. I know you liked to play your little games in the last few month, finding out what it takes to make me angry, to make me flip,” he saw how her eyes got even bigger over the reveal that he knew about it. “How you tried to find out more about me, and I feel honoured that you picked me as your guinea pig, but whatever you think, you have learned over the last few weeks, you’re wrong with one thing, and that is the most crucial thing.

“To go to Croatia was my job, it was not brave, it was incredible stupid, and I paid my price,” he stared down to the floor for a second, smiling lost in thought. ”Being brave does not mean to jump into the line of fire for a good story. Being brave means, to know, when to take a step back. And I don’t mean to quit. You step back to be safe, because when you aren’t your story never will be.

“You want to have a good story, you have to look out for yourself. Brave sometimes means, approaching a subject from another angle.”

Clara didn’t answer to that, it was too much at once and for a reason she only wanted to be left alone at the moment. She needed to figure out what to do and how to do it, and right now it was all unclear. Maybe Randall was right, maybe not. Maybe she was right or maybe so wrong.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on vacation by Monday for 1,5 weeks, I will write there, but probably not publish. Maybe I finish up chapter five, and shove it into my drafts here on Ao3, and publish then in a week or so.  
> I hope you still enjoy the story, don't hesitate to leave a message on tumblr or a comment here. 
> 
> Thanks for the read and everybody a great late Summer!


	5. 05_Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over tea and beer questions are asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of a longer Randall/Clara scene. Also I am really rubbish with Chapter titles... sorry.

Unnerved she ruffled her hair, tired of thinking, tired of the last days. Randall looked at the watch on his wrist. He knew, she wasn’t living in the hotel anymore, and would return back to her apartment. It would be the first night there after the violation.

“It was a long day. Do you want to go and ... drink something?” it came over his lips to his own surprise. He had thought of it, and hadn’t thought he could find the courage to actually ask her. He was glad he did. “I think there is a cafe down the street.”

Seeing clearly how his words produced confusion in her, he hid a smirk, “No, it’s fine.”

“It was a long day. I know you don’t live in the hotel anymore,” he looked at her from the side, and saw her cast down her eyes when he mentioned it. An unpleasant remembrance. “You don’t want to go home, do you?” he stated the truth, because he didn’t know what else to say.

His expectation was, that she would deny it, only to be the strong woman once again, what she was without question — it came differently.

“That’s totally stupid, isn’t it? Like a twelve year old,” she smiled faintly, and was angry at herself deep inside of her.

“No, it’s not,” Randall smiled back, shifting on his feet a bit more toward her, one hand in his pocket. “You have all the reasons.”

She inhaled deeply, but didn’t say anything else. She was not in the mood to talk about it anymore, Randall could see it in her body language. He wouldn’t usually interfere, would make his good nights, and leave. He was no one for urging someone, but he knew that Clara needed this. To get away from the haunting thoughts and he was the only one available at the moment, he thought, and that he could need an evening off of the thoughts too.

“Come on, we go and get something to drink. I pay.”

“But you don’t drink,” Clara looked at him and he smirked.

He smirked back, people knew he didn’t drink, not that he told them, they simply seem to know from somewhere. Office talk. Clara was the first, who said it out loud to him, and it sounded like the most natural thing ever.

“I drink tea then,” he explained with a shrug of his left shoulder.

For a moment she thought about it. He never had invited anyone for a drink or tea before, as far as she knew. He never joined them when they went for a beer or a soda after a long day. Bel did sometimes and they always had a good time. Randall always declined. After a while they had stopped asking, and Clara remembered that she always passed his office, but never stopped, because she knew he would say no. Only now it came to her, that he — in case they had kept asking — would have given in one day. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know, but I want to,” he stepped back into the floor. “I wanted to make myself a cup of tea anyway. So, now come on,” he made a gesture with his head, eager to leave the sticky office behind him.

Clara smirked, grabbed her things and followed him.

When they reached the cafe, he opened the door for her and let her in first. The cafe was well frequented and only in a little corner there was still some room, and so they sat down there.

“Do you guys know what to drink already?” the waiter came around and Randall looked at Clara, while ordering, “I’ll take a cup of tea, please. You?”

“Would you mind, when I drink a beer?” Clara asked uncertain.

“Not at all,” he smiled. “A tea for me, and a beer for the lady.”

The waiter nodded and left them, with that an awkward silence fell between them, while they waited for their drinks. While Randall used his thumbs to follow the edges of the table, Clara played with one of the coasters. Then their eyes met and they both chuckled.

“You don’t usually go for drinks, do you?” Clara inquired and saw him blush slightly.

“Not really, no, I am not-” the waiter came back and placed Clara’s beer and his tea in front of them, and Randall felt rescued from an unwanted answer. His long fingers twined around the cup, shoving it back and forth slightly, “I don’t know the rites, but can we clink glasses with tea and a beer? Or would that be mortifying?”

“Mortifying? To the drinking gods?” Clara laughed, while holding up her beer. “I think we are safe. Maybe a bit unusual.”

He nodded amused and was about to clink glasses with her, when he stopped short before they drinks touched, “Don’t we need a toast?”

Clara shrugged, off-guard, “I haven’t thought you take this so serious.”

“It’s only me trying to blend in,” he watched a couple of friends toasting to each other on the other side of the room. “So how about; … to better days?”

“Better days? Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” and so they finally clinked glass against porcelain.

Clara watched him sip from the hot tea, only to pour some more sugar into it. Way too much sugar in her opinion, “You are having a sweet tooth, aren’t you?”

“One could say that,” he stirred the tea in a slow motion. “It’s one of the few addictions I still have.”

“What happened with the others?” Clara asked quickly without thinking, forgetting for a moment that it was her boss, and not a close friend. Blushing she began to stutter an excuse, but he stopped her, telling her it was okay, by touching her wrist for a second. Clara cast her eyes down at his hand, seeing his fingers glide away.

“I put them into the cupboard of my mind, and that’s where they still are,” he explained. “Locked away.”

It came to her, that he didn’t narrow his addictions down. The drinking, was surely one of it, she thought. She had heard about it, when it had been his birthday a few month ago, and as usual everyone in the office gave a bit, and the one who had birthday received a little basket with some chocolate, a bottle of wine and flowers. Bel had reminded them, that they shouldn’t buy alcohol for Randall as he didn’t drink, and she figured it meant either it was simply a life choice or a needed decision that had been made in the past - a reformed alcoholic. Her feeling told her he was the latter.

The question was, what were the others? Or did she interpret too much? It was not her to elaborate, and so she sipped guiltily from her drink.

“I stopped drinking almost twenty years ago,” he read her thoughts. “Not that I was an alcoholic, but I was close, and so I thought, it might be better to stop.”

“Was it hard?” she couldn’t imagine stopping drinking a beer or a glass of wine from time to time, knowing it had a relaxing feeling for her. They probably not talked about one drink every few days, she guessed then.

“It still is, sometimes,” he slowly spun the mug on the table around. “I mean, I am Scottish.”

Clara needed a second and then saw his suggesting expression on his face, with a smile, “All the good whiskey?”

“All the good whiskey,” they both laughed over it. The tensions was broken now. “I…,” then he trailed off, looking down into his tea.

Clara counted to ten in silence, before she dared to ask, “You?”

“Mh?” he glanced up, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“You… I had the impression, you wanted to say something that started with “I”, but then…,” she glanced down to his tea, “you got distracted by your tea.”

He breathed out while laughing over her kind description, and not talking about lost confidence. Considering her for a moment, Randall knew she wouldn’t give up on it. “I,... my reaction toward you, when we were at your apartment and later back in the office. It was… wrong.”

Clara knew what such an admission from Randall Brown meant. She swallowed and looked down to the bottle between her hands. “You had a reason, I guess.”

“That’s a lie, we both know that,” he nudged with his forefingers against her hand, so she would look up again.

Smiling over it, she nodded with tight pressed lips, “Can I be honest?”

“Always.”

“Indeed you acted like …,” she mused over the right word.

“.. a lousy boss?”

“Actually I wanted to say twat,” immediately her cheeks flushed in a deep red, and she needed to hide her grin behind her hand, when he stared at her for long seconds with a stern expression. Clara knew she hadn’t offended him. There was something in his eyes, something that told her he was amused in this moment, and she kept right when he broke into a chuckle.

“That’s something, that isn’t that wrong I assume,” again he was about getting lost in his tea, but he rose one of his finger, to tell her, that he was not. “A twat. I acted like a twat, yes.”

“Randall?” his head shot up, hearing his name from her lips again. This time all different, softer, also her tone was stern. “Can I ask you something?”

Slowly he sipped from the cup, and wondered what she would ask him now. His eyebrows rose up in unionism to tell her she could ask.

“Why did you became a journalist?”

He blinked at her a few times, as if he wanted to make sure, that he had understood the question correctly. Clara smiled for a short moment, and made a face, as if she wanted to tell him, that it wasn’t a scientific maths problem she had asked him. He returned the smile. The question was, aside it’s simpleness, a surprise to him.

“Well,...” he searched for the words, turning his mug on the table first in one direction then into the other. “My father would have liked to see me do something more… tangible, like some sort of craftsman, I guess,” he hesitated.

Clara considered to take the question back, decided then not to let him off the hook. To curious she was, to far behind the line she could have let go of it. Not after all those months in those she had tried to find out more about him. “So?”

Randall’s head lowered slightly down to the side, only a wisp - he revisited the moment.

“I’m not sure, but I think, my father always thought, that my decision to become a journalist was only made because of some sort of youthful revolution against him.

“The truth is, I think, I never had another idea of what to do,” he looked into the room, his eyes unfocused, and he chuckled over the next sentence, he already had said in his head. “I never had those moment when I was five years old, where I said, I want to become a firefighter,” his eyes darted to Clara and she smirked. “After I began as a runner all those years ago, I knew,” his hand became a fist, “that this it was, in what I could be really good.”

Clara drank from her beer, and let the liquid go around in her mouth for a while, watching Randall how he seemed to be suddenly far away with his thoughts. Maybe with his father. Maybe in Croatia. She had heard some rumours at work, nothing specific. The Caledonian ghost - she figured it had his offspring somewhere.

“Did you ever regret your decision?”

With a blink he returned back to the now, “No,” was his resolute answer without any hesitation. “And you shouldn’t do that too, Clara. You are a good journalist. I think you have a good, great career in front of you.”

She emptied the bottle and searched the waiter with her eyes, a dismissive wave into Randall’s direction. Her stomach was empty, so the alcohol was already softly whirring in her veins. “You just say that because you have to, or something.”

Randall emptied his cup of tea, “I mean it. I’m convinced, that if you really want, you can have my job one day,” Clara looked puzzled at him. The waiter came over and they both ordered a soda with ice and some mint. “One day I leave, and they will find someone else, probably some middle age person from somewhere, and if this one goes into retirement, you would be the right to do the job. Of course you don’t have to stay all the time. Go and do some other stuff, and return later. When you are once with the BBC, you usually don’t leave it.”

She grabbed for the soda, and balanced it for a bit in her hands, “You forget I don’t have a full time contract. Maybe never will. I am just an internship at the moment.”

Randall breathed in deeply, leaning back into his stool, one hand holding the wet glass, “Do you really believe you will _not_ get a full time contract?”

Once more she looked startled, and he smiled indulgent, “After all your elaborations about me, you know I don’t want to lure you. You know I mean it.” It wouldn’t be only his decision. There would be a few people to convince off it, and Randall Brown would make sure, none of them would have a scrap of doubt.

“That’s maybe a bit planned far ahead, don’t you think so? Clara Oswald. Head of News? I am not even a real journalist at the moment,” she leaned back into the stool as he did, mirroring him. She could very well guess what he suggested, also she was no one to believe it without doubt. Yes, he would give her a contract — why ever, but there were too many others involved in it. The chance of disappointment too big.

“Things change, Clara,” he held out his glass to clink with her. “It’s your decision in the end. I only want to make sure, that you don’t make the wrong one, because you are afraid of the right one.”

Randall felt it was not the topic she wanted to talk about at the moment. It was the same with him, it had been not his intention to turn problems over and over - he wanted to come down from work a bit. From what has happened and all the worries of the daily routine. So he only gave her a short moment, till he was sure his advice had sunk in and then he changed the subject.

She saw right through him of course, but let him take her away from the topic and they actually went lost in little anecdotes about their both lives with an air about philosophy, about God, the World and the politics in the country.

In between Clara wondered, why he did it, why he stayed with her, as he had said, he usually didn’t went out in the evening. She hoped he didn’t do it because of some sense of duty, also he didn’t looked like it. He told her some nice stories from his time as a young learning journalist and asked her about her old job, about being a teacher.

When Clara ended a story about some of her students, of how they had tried to explain her why their Jane Austen essay had went missing, he really had to laugh over it, and he asked himself why he hadn’t done this earlier. Going out. Saying yes to one of their many invitations.

He had done such thing when he had been younger, before he had become the Head of News. With becoming someone who was in charge, he somehow had told himself, that it would be inappropriate for him to “hang out” with his subordinates. And even now, having fun, enjoying the time, something in the back of his head nagged him.

What if Danny would see them, what would he think? Wouldn’t he believe Randall would prefer Clara over him, and the thought became more persistent, when he remembered, that he had literally had guaranteed her a full contract in six month. He couldn’t promise the same to Danny, not because he didn’t like the boy, more because long term contracts were rare. Times were different to the times twenty years ago, when the BBC hired like there was no tomorrow.

Wiping away some drops from the table with two fingers, he pushed the thought away. He had good reasons to be with Clara here at the moment, and it made him happy that she seemed to have forgotten about the last couple days, as she was laughing and smiling at him.

They probably wouldn’t repeat it - he would decline another offer, knowing it was for the better to keep away from the all too personal aura. He had to make harsh decisions sometimes, and was afraid he couldn’t do them anymore, when being too close.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene goes on, so stay tuned!


	6. 06_Walk you home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening comes to an end, does it really?

Hours passed and none of them realized that the café had went empty. In the end it was almost only them in their corner and the waiter came over to tell them, they would close soon.

“Oh,” Clara checked her watch and so did Randall.

“We should go then,” he placed the money on the table and when he saw Clara looking for her purse in her bag, he placed a hand on her wrist. “I said I pay.”

She wanted to insist, but something in his gaze, made her nod, “Next time I pay.” Unsure where that came from, as she sensed there would be not a next time and she braced herself for his rejection.

Instead he smiled, “Next time.”

“Great,” Clara rubbed her hands nervously over her denim covered thighs. “I need to go for the bathroom quickly. I think I drank like a litre of soda or something.”

“Yes, that’s a good plan,” without knowing, he rubbed his hands against his own thighs. “Me too. We meet outside?”

“Sure,” and so Clara and Randall walked over together to the restroom.

Clara, in front, felt his presence and was so intimidated that she wanted to go to the men's restroom. Realizing her mistake she turned on her heels to bump against Randall with a muffled groan. In reflex, he reached for her upper arms, to soften the impact, gazing down at her, lost for words.

For a second, Clara forgot why they were here, and then her bladder remembered her. “Wrong door,” she smiled embarrassed and he nodded sheepishly and stepped aside to let her pass.

When Clara left the café a bit later, the breezy air hit her face and after hours in the sticky café it felt good. She shivered for a moment, finding Randall standing aside a fire hydrant, fumbling with his bag. When he saw her he stopped and made a step forward.

“You okay?”

“Everything is fine,” she smiled unsure what to do next.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Randall said to her surprise, knowing she only lived like twenty minutes in walking distance from the office. He stepped to her side, touched her elbow lightly before starting to walk.

“You don’t have to do this,” Clara bumped against his arm.

“I know I don’t have to do this, you don’t need to tell me, Clara,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, and hoped he didn’t sound too harsh. “Believe me, when I don’t want to do something, I will not do it,” he added a smile, that quickly flickered away, before he found his old stern expression again.

“I mean it is late,” It was not really a protest, as she started walking with him.

“I know, but the fresh air will do me good,” his hand landed on her back, when a group of men passed them who seemed to be slightly drunk, and they had to dodge around them to avoid collision. Instead they collided with each others shoulders and Clara’s hand landed for a brief second on his chest, to steady her and he clasped his hand around hers.

“Sorry,” she mimicked and brought an accurate distance between them. 

The night had became cold, and Clara was only wearing a light jacket. Randall saw that she was slightly shivering. “Would you like to have my coat?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s only a few minutes, and somehow it helps to …,” she looked scrutinizing at him. They had spent a nice evening together, and she guessed, it was a privilege he didn’t share with everyone.

Randall had allowed her to take a deeper look behind those curtains, those walls, and it made

her proud somehow. Also there was still this aura of retreat and restrain, the authority of him.

“To?” he then asked.

“...to get a grip again,” she said on purpose and Randall nodded, still feeling guilty over it.

“That’s true,” he looked down the street, seeing a street light flicker in the distance. 

When they turned into Clara’s street, Randall felt that she slowed down. Since the attack she hadn’t been in her apartment and it was reasonable that she was now confronted with all those memories with which she hadn't come to terms yet. Luckily Randall had taken actions that everything would have been cleaned till her return.

At the front door, he reached for her arm, “It’s not weak to think like this.”

“To think what?” she snapped and instantly regretted it. Randall luckily didn’t let her made an impression.

“Something bad has happened. What you’re thinking right now, is normal,” he took a deep breathe, and felt his tongue caught between the need to talk and the feeling that he should better shut up. “I know it sounds lame, but it will get better.”

Clara felt misunderstood visibly, and Randall damned is bad empathy.

“Certainly,” the mood was about to change. A nice evening ruined.

Randall didn’t know what to say else, and only stood there like a fire hydrant himself, staring at her. Waiting that she would turn around to just leave him behind or lose her patience to tell him her honest opinion, in her tiredness, about him.

Nothing of it happened, instead, she glanced down the empty, dark street, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at him.

He couldn’t say if it was the weariness at this late evening, that it felt like an eternity and that it made him warm on the inside. If he would have been drinking, he would have put the blame on the alcohol, but so he knew it was something different.

“You could come upstairs.”

That he didn’t answer, he only realized when she broke eye contact and added; “it’s cold, late and…,” he knew what she wanted to say. He wasn’t that stupid.

“Clara,” he began, and wanted to tell her that they were both — aside him being her supervisor, and actually being too old for such antics — they were influenced by the long day, the fatigue, the emotions, she maybe by the beer she had. He didn’t get that far.

“I just thought...,” she said in an undertone and inhaled the cold air, stroking another strand of hair behind her ear. It was mesmerizing to him and he asked himself how it would be to do it for her.

If they hadn’t had this nice evening, he would have nodded, would have wished her a nice evening and would have left her.

Now, there was something between them he couldn’t explain. A connection. Something had happened and he didn’t know what. He must be out of his senses, he thought, no more frightened, no more full of worries and consequences.

He found himself curious, “What did you think?”

“A game,” she began hesitant. “A … roleplay. Why not see it as this?”

Startled he shook his head, certain he had misheard something, “A r-roleplay?

She smirked, because she knew what he was thinking about it in this moment. Then she searched her keys and started to explain it to him, while she turned it in the lock, “There is this… passing traveller, maybe a businessman,” she glanced at him, thinking. “David. That might could be his name,” she invited him with a moving of her head to follow her.

“David?” he still didn’t understood fully, also found himself stepping toward her, through the door into the hall of the building.

“David only stays for one night in town. After a long day, he goes to this bar, this café. Sitting at the counter and orders a drink, or a tea, whatever he likes,” Clara slowly walked up the stairs and Randall followed her. He couldn’t say why, but he couldn’t convince himself to leave.

“There he sees this young woman, and the woman sees him. They exchange looks, find each other simpatico and he buys her a drink.”

Finally Randall understood, “And they have a nice evening and at the end of it the woman… .”

“Who has no name yet,” they were now reaching the second floor, had climbed the steps word by word and Clara kept her eyes glued to him. The hand on the rail, she walked backwards, her heart racing, intoxicated almost and at the same time she couldn’t imagine what would happen. It was the most exciting and daring thing she had ever done, she thought. _A roleplay_ , she thought amused about herself, _when did you read too much mushy romantic novels?_

Randall followed her, his hand also on the rail, only inches away from her hand, his fingertips stretched out for hers, “Anne,” gently the soft fingertips touched among themselves, “so Anne, takes David to her home,” he hesitated, Clara merely nodded. With a swallowing he added, “for the night,” it sounded like a question on purpose.

“For the night,” Clara now stood in front of her door and Randall stood a meter aside her, still on the staircase and considered, observing her. She was young and beautiful. Stimulating. It wasn’t that he never had noticed, he simply never had paid real attention to it. What for? There never had been any interest, which now hovered in the air between them.

“I…,” his courage left him. However, he knew she not wanted to be alone this first night after the attack. He was caught, somehow. Between her and himself, between wanting and not being allowed. “Maybe David could sleep on the couch.”

Clara pondered over his words, trying to dissect the meaning behind it. Grasping the worries he had — it wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t that she had made the offer light hearted. On a whim or because she was desperate. No, that wasn’t so.

She had the same worries as he had. They worked together, and there was a considerable age gap. Not that it was of a big meaning for them right now. He was her supervisor. When somebody would hear about this, she would be fired and he might would have to leave too. Some early retirement of whatever. Let alone the gossip.

She nodded and opened the door, stepping inside and walked over to her kitchen counter, placing her hands on it. Feeling her heart beat in her palms, and she was glad the cool of the counter helped her to stay calm while waiting for him. Waiting for what he would do.

With an attentive look he followed Clara from the point he was standing, till she vanished out of sight into the inside of her apartment.

The light in the stairwell defunct. The warm light from the inside of her apartment crawled into the darkness he was now standing. It touched the tip of his shoes.

He should go — nothing he wanted. The last couple of days had been exhausting and if he would go now, he would take a cab toward home, he would return into an empty apartment. Into a cold, empty bed. What he not wanted. Not tonight.

His shoes creaked faint on the laminate, when he entered. Pressing the door softly into the lock. He regarded Clara by the counter and waited till she turned her head. She smiled gently and Randall could see how she took a deep breath. Was it relief or agitation? Surely a mix of both emotions. It was all the same with him.

For a moment his eyes wandered around the apartment. In the corner he could see a couch, what calmed him somehow. Why ever. Randall shoved his coat and jacket off and hanged it on a hanger by her wardrobe. Without thinking he opened the cuff links on his shirt and rolled his sleeves up, while he stepped slowly toward her.

It was silent in the room, so silent, that he believed to hear his own heart hammer against the inside of his chest. Certainly an imagination.

Clara turned around, leaning against the counter with her back, hands left and right aside of her, resting on it. Following him with her eyes, till he stood in front of her — at the exact edge of her personal space.

She had to admit she never had realized that he had green eyes. Or was it blue? Or a mix of both. She never had looked and only now, while she was mesmerized, she recognized his eyes as one of many attractive details.

His eyes fell down to her stomach, thinking about something, feeling shy, and then he looked up to her again, swallowing nervously, licking his lips, “I know it was just one beer... and that was hours ago, but…,“ he was unable to end the sentence, his heart beating in his throat.

She knew what he wanted to ask with the question. If she was sure of it. “Not drunk,” yes, she was sure. “And you?” she added jokingly.

He smiled coyly, fixated for a few seconds on the skin of her right shoulder, before he looked back into her eyes.

“Not that I know. Not by the tea,” it was mere an inch he leaned forward, but it was enough that Clara took her hands from the counter and reached out for his wrists. He turned his hands outright and clasped around her wrists, gently pulling and she gave into his plea.

It was not only a ridiculous thing to do, Randall knew, it was utterly stupid. All his alarm bells rang in his head. All of his sound mind telling him why _not_ to do this, and he ignored it. Tonight he would not be the man he usually was — he was a man after all. With needs and wants, and emotions and the need for love and touch. He was without it for so long now.

All the restrain in him, all the walls, didn’t mean he didn’t care for love, for sex and for a woman by his side. At some point in his life he had simply retreated so far from all this, that it was hard to come out of the shell again.

It was all so complicated with him. He had all, what he missed, with Lix, the taste, the touch, sex and love. Back in Croatia, and back in London for a short while, before they realised it was no good.

He had loved Lix, he still did in a corner of his heart. The relationship with her had left an imprint in him, had shaped his thoughts of a relationship with someone he loved.

It had been always Lix who had initiated touch, who had searched closeness. In the beginning he had dared to try to be the first, to take her into his arms, to caress her, but she had padded his hand away, had shooed him away. She had treated him like a dog and he had let her do it, giving in so much, because he was so in love with her.

At some point in his life, he had thought that was the way it had to be. Him all submissive, and he had needed long years to realize, that he was not all submissive. That he liked to touch, to demand a kiss and that there were women who actually liked when he was not all restrained. With old age, comes wisdom and he tried to learn.

After he had left London, he hadn’t found a woman he thought was worth the work. He craved a long term relationship, and had ignored one or two offers, which had indicated the other way, with some women he had met while some conferences.

Why he now was about to cross this line with Clara, was defying any explanation to him. Perhaps he was desperate, and she was too? Also, if so, shouldn’t they lash into each other, hectically, clumsy and needy?

Their palms touched and circled softly around each other, before Randall hesitantly placed his hands onto her hip and lowered his head. Clara went onto tiptoes. His lips captured hers, her hands embraced around his neck, and when they both felt the heat of the other, they found the courage to let go of their worries.

Randall broke the kiss, looking at Clara, giving her a second and then searched a second firm, passionate kiss. Greed flared to life in both of them. Clara pressed her body against him, her hands digging into his hair on the back of his neck, the head of his body vibrating through her. Randall’s hands moved under her bottom and he lifted her slightly, so she came to sit on the kitchen counter, bringing them more eye level.

To his surprise, when he did so, she gasped into his mouth and her embrace tightened. Their tongues and mouths licked and sucked keen at each other, sending shivers down their spine, while they both tasted the soda on the tongue of the other. Randall thought he even could taste a faint flavour of beer in Clara’s mouth. Not that he minded.

Clara hummed in consent when his tongue searched hers, tasting the soda and a lot more of Randall, she ever had thought. The last time she had kissed a man had been a half year ago, shortly before she had started at the magazine. A timid kiss with a nice looking man, that was everything Randall was not. Regularly working out, two years younger as herself and she had dated the boy a few times, talking with him about travel and what they had experienced in life till now and what their goals where. For some reason, she had found that it had been all about him, and never really about her. Sure, he was nice and smart, good looking — not that Randall wasn’t — the protective kind of guy. The overprotective kind of guy. Thinking she was too critical, she had tried to ignore her doubts and had leaned into the kiss, finding out the moment their lips had touched, that they didn’t click, and never would. They never saw again.

This kiss now was different, was filled with a fever, a need and the way Randall had demanded a second deeper kiss, had revealed him to her. He was not only the restrained supervisor of her. He was a man, a man she liked, and found so extraordinary kissable, that she believed that all the kisses she had shared with men to this moment, had been only some sort of training, or more a waste of time.

Kissing Randall made her warm inside, like a hot stream of water went from her heart toward her body, making her knees weak and her mind mushy.

She had been afraid, when she had waited at the kitchen counter for him. When she had counted till ten, and had reached eleven and then twelve, she had lost hope, and reckoned he had gone. When he then had entered her apartment, she was sure her heart had skipped more than one beat.

Clara brought her legs around his upper thighs, and started to fumble with his vest and the shirt, while Randall found his hands under her shirt to discover with gentle circles her warm skin. His soft fingertips burned on her sensitive skin.

Heat rushed through his body and he knew the kitchen was not a good place for such deeds, and so he lifted her onto his hip and asked almost breathless; “Bedroom?” and Clara let him carry her willingly toward it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in my summary, this story will lead quicker to an m-rated chapter. I assume you know what will happen in the next chapter. For you who don't like such thing, don't worry, you will be able to skip it. More to it, in my notes for the next chapter.  
> I want to mention, that the names I used for the "roleplay" have no connection at all, I just came up with them. Just in case someone wonders.
> 
> Leave a comment if you like, and thanks for following this ridiculous story. It means a lot to me!


	7. 07_Explorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall and Clara find each other in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter that could be anticipated from the last chapter. Between the sheets. For everyone who doesn't like to read such stuff, you might want to skip that chapter -- you will not loose any important character development.   
> It's not really graphic, also it's a tad more, as in "Collide". Well, you can read into it and still skip.   
> For the people who will skip this one, I try to add the next chapter in the next 24 hours too, so you don't have to wait.

In front of the bed, Randall lets go of her, gently letting her down and when she stood on her own feet, they shared a long look into each other's eyes. They are both nervous, good at hiding it, but the eyes are a betraying object.

Unable to do nothing, Randall raises his hand, and brushes a strand of hair behind Clara’s ear. To his surprise — even after all what had happened till now — he finds her leaning into the touch.

Coming onto her tiptoes she grabs his shirt and pulls him down into another wanting kiss. His lips are soft, his chin slightly rough — a gentle stubble, and it wonders her, that she is so fully aware of everything. Of the hum he gives, the hand on the small of her back, making little circles with his thumb, the way his tongue taps against her lips, the scent of his cologne. It’s not her usual alarming awareness, it’s something different, something she can’t process right now. The only thing she knows, it’s something good, she likes to feel him. His being, his body, his aura, she likes being all aware of him.

Randall feels her hands on the buttons of his vest, letting her proceed without doing something else as kissing her and caressing her back. Afraid of scaring her off, afraid all this was only a very vivid dream. Afraid, but not willing to stop. Sometimes, he knew, fear was like a drug, sending all the adrenalin through his veins.

When she had the vest open and went to open the buttons of his shirt, his hands finally copied her actions and shoved under her jumper to shove it upwards. Clara only disconnected quickly from him, to throw the jumper down to the floor, her hands pushing his shirt down, revealing a white undershirt.

She caught him glancing down her chest, still covered by her shirt, and she smirked raising her arms, and he answered with his own smile and gently tucked it over her head. He gulped at the sight of her dark blue bra, and over the anticipation what was underneath it. She was already so beautiful to him.

Before he could think to much, she pressed against him, her hands crawling under his undershirt, touching his belly and he groaned into her mouth, his fingers wandering over the soft skin of her shoulders. Clara discovered fine hair around his belly button and followed the trail down to his belt and trousers. Eager and not willing to play too long, she started to unfasten his belt and when she was done, she did the same with her trousers, stripping them quickly down. Randall did the same.

Her hands on his skin let his blood pulse heavily through his body and he felt how he got more aroused with each second. She shoved up his shirt, touching his chest, and then shoved it over his head and for a moment he felt ashamed. He wasn’t a young and athletic man anymore. He wasn’t like Danny Pink for example, but Clara smiled against his doubts and opened her bra with one hand and let it glide down to the floor.

Randall missed to breath for a moment. She was gorgeous, so almost naked. The warm, soft skin shimmered in the dim light and for a few second he could do nothing else as to marvel over her body.

She threw him an obvious look and he understood, so he took initiative again and pressed her down the bed with a kiss. Crawled with her into the centre of the bed, his knee between her legs, his hand feeling her collarbone under his palm, kissing her throat, down to her breasts. Searched with his fingertips her curves, travelled slowly over the taut curves, caressed with his lips the hardening skin and when a long hum escaped Clara he got encouraged.

His hands not only felt warm, they were also very soft, softer as she had expected. She had the impression that he was almost reverent while exploring her body, and when his lips captured her erected breasts, it didn’t feel wrong. Not rough, but careful, patient and exploring. There were men who would have been clumsy and rough over the greed in this area. Not Randall. His tongue circled around the peak and his left hand caressed down her side to the last piece of clothes she was wearing. The room filled with hums and gasps from both of them.

He was nervous, and hoped she wouldn't notice too much. At the same time, he knew he couldn’t stop anymore. He wanted Clara, wanted to experience her body, wanted every inch plaster with kisses, wanted to feel her tongue on his and in the end, he wanted to come deep inside of her. With this thought, he felt his erection twitch.

His fingers had travelled multiple times over the edge of her underwear, slowly searching his way. Carefully he had moved over her middle with two fingers and with gentle pressure stroked over her covered pubis.

Clara’s hands in his curls and on his back, she reacted to his touches immediately. Reflexively she bucked up with her hip and gasped. A warm shiver running through her body. Her hands tightened in his hair and she pulled him up gently to her, as she was in need for the feeling of his lips on hers.

Her body was floated with anticipation and filled up with pent up lust and when Randall touched her private area a second time, and this time stayed there to find the little sensitive spot and massage her there, she kissed him deep and craving.

Their kisses were wet, and deep, and their bodies rubbed against each other, building friction and lust.

By now Randall had lowered his hip against her hipbone to rub his erection against her. In cadence with his touches he moved against her thin figure. Moaned surprised and willingly into her mouth when he felt her hand — which came around his length straightforward — wandered under the waistband of his boxer shorts.

He was already wet and her forceful grip — still a slow stroking of up and down — pushed aside all his reserve and worries. With a quick motion he shoved down her knickers to her ankles, followed by his boxer shorts. He took her wrist and freed himself from her touch, and shuffled between her legs and searched for eye contact.

In Clara’s eyes flared lust and she could see how his own pupils were dilated and full with emotions and arousing. As sign for her consent she rose her hip. Instantly Randall lowered his head down to kiss her, while his fingers cautious trailed between her legs. She was wet and the soft, short touch sent a shiver through her. She was vibrating.

She hummed into his ear, and his fingers searched her centre, finding it wet and as much as he wanted to sleep with her, he couldn’t hold back, to spread the wetness with his fingers between her labia making her groan and arch up against him.

“Randall,” her lips uttered, and he couldn’t refuse her order — it wasn’t a wish, so he postponed his explorations and took himself in hand and directed himself toward her middle. Aside he not wanted to do it, he needed to break away from the kiss, looked down quickly - too afraid he would hurt her in any way. Then he lowered himself and when he felt how one thing came to another he behold Clara again.

The passion ran like fire through Randall and Clara with all its warmth, and the starting feeling of exploding. Hands at his hip, she guided him into her and licked teasingly over his lips. He smirked and sank into her. When his skin touched hers, he buried his face into the crook of her shoulder, moaning, gently nipping at her skin. He held still for a moment to take in the sensation of this first immersion and to give her a chance to get used to him. Listening into himself he felt his heart beat hard against his chest, felt a wonderful feeling go around in his stomach, filling his body with a warm, pulsing feeling of happiness.

After a minute, Clara rose her hips, not longer able to wait for his movement, and Randall didn’t waste a second.

The way how he took her, was thrilling, was perfect and dearly, demanding and yet tender and careful. His rhythm where short at the beginning, faint, but with each thrust they got stronger. He knew what he did and this washed one wave after another of arousal through Clara.

Again and again he dived down to her shoulders and kissed her skin, savouring the motion of her hips, the rhythm she went with him. He was only surprised when he suddenly felt how she brought up a leg and pressed him into one direction. He understood and rolled with her in his lap, onto his back, his hands holding her by her hip.

When she rose herself only to bring her pelvis down again, so he sank even deeper inside of her, he thought for the blink of an eye, he would get unconscious. A long groan escaped his mouth, and he silenced himself with biting his lower lip.

Clara liked this little holding back, the reserve that never really let him alone. It spurred her on, made her wonder, what she needed to do to make him get lost in their lovemaking. She began to ride him firm, making him dig his fingertips into her skin, going with her rhythm.

Her hair hang loose over her shoulders and the riding let her breast gently bob up and down. Clara’s lips were open slightly and in this moment Randall wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, how good she felt. It was the perfect moment for him.

Also he knew, it wasn’t allowed. A taboo at an evening, where two work colleagues only had found each other for sex. This between them, was not a romantic date, it was non-binding sex developed out of loneliness and something bad that had happened to Clara.

Clara knew, she couldn’t last long in this position. Especially as the man under her fit so perfectly into her. Every move, every thrust hit the sweet spot in her being. She would have loved to ask him how it felt, if he liked it and would have liked to tell him, that he felt good.

Like him she knew about the taboo and kept silent. Instead she leaned slightly forward, placing her hands onto his chest, her thumbs circling his nipples non-random. If she couldn’t tell him, she wanted to let him at least feel it.

Randall let his hands slid up her sides, to her breasts, and gently caressed them and when he felt her fingertips at his hotspot, he moaned and leaned up to catch her nipples with his mouth, licking and sucking them slowly.

Clara groaned and he could feel over her faster going motions, that she was close.

When she came, she kissed him profoundly. The orgasm rushed like hot wax over her and for a second she lost all control over herself. It wasn’t called the ‘little death’ for nothing.

She lowered her her head down to his shoulder and looked inward, listening to the rush that slowly ebbed away. Then she felt how Randall held her, how his hands protectively caressed over her back.

He couldn’t have come yet, aside he wanted to, but he wasn’t a young boy anymore. Nevertheless, to see how Clara had came, made him feel something similar without his own release. When she had slumped over him, he held her tight, tugging away the hairs from her neck and wanted to lift her gently off of him.

“Don’t,” she whispered, kissed his lips in short intervals and slowly began again to move her hips. With wide eyes he looked at her, it was nothing he had envisaged. “Please, go on,”she pulled him close and rolled with him back again onto her back.

It was an offer he couldn’t refuse to. Thanking her, he kissed her long and passionate, knowing she would need a moment of recovery, that it would do her good. Then he slowly increased his motions. Again and again he almost slid completely out of her before he sunk back deep inside of her. He knew himself, and that it was the best position for him to come fast. Clara hooked her legs into his and scratched over his bottom and his back, without hurting him really. It was exactly what he needed in this moment, but instead to get carried away, and get faster and more intensifying, he kept his pace. Steady and firm. Aside the pangs of his conscious, that he used Clara for his own climax, he wanted to savour this moment.

She hadn’t thought it would happen, but quickly she felt how another fire came to life in her and to show it to him that she was still with him she searched his rhythm and pulled him closer and deeper inside of her. After a few minutes his motions changed and went faster.

Only a few more thrusts and he would come, that was what the vibrating feeling inside of his head was telling him. It would rob him of his clear mind any moment, so an explosion could happen. Only lasting a few fading seconds, but they would feel like eternity.

When he felt that he was coming, he hid his face again in the crook of her neck, capturing her hot skin with his mouth and gave a long moan.

First his hips jerked, then his whole body and somewhere in the daze of his orgasm, he could hear and feel how Clara came again under him, breathing against his ear, holding him close.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chapter follows soon. Thanks for sticking with me and this story. Since August I am somehow more busy as usual, and writing had to step back a little, but I have a plan for this story (mostly) and will finish it. Whenever and how, I don't know, but I will. Like my motto was with "Collide" it is still the same here; Trust me!


	8. 08_Afthermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after for Randall and Clara. How will they deal with what has happened?

Randall didn’t dare to move for a moment, because of the high in his head and as his body was all sensitive - a slow dying down of his orgasm. Only the gentle touch on his shoulders brought him back into reality. He slightly jerked over the touch, thought about how to react and then moved carefully down from Clara. Rolling to his side he laid on his back aside her, his eyes turned toward the ceiling.

His heart beat hard and wild, and a thin layer of sweat on his body gave the faint circulation of air enough ground to make him shiver for a few seconds.

Between Randall and Clara’s hand laid only half an inch and he wanted to take her hand, capture it, but he couldn’t find the courage to do so. When she moved slightly, he moved his head toward her. She did the same. “Hey.”

“Hey,” what was there to say now? He was lost. Like usual. She smiled at him and then picked herself up. “Where do you go?”

She stopped by the door and smirked, “I need to go to the bathroom. Also I need to get my pyjamas.”

He felt stupid, “Of course,” he sank back into the bed and looked again to the ceiling for a bit. When he heard the shower go on, he stood up and took his clothes from the ground. He shoved over his underwear and his shirt, the rest he placed neatly over a stool in the living room.

He gave the couch a scrutinizing look to find out how the thing must be unfolded. It caught at one corner, but he was able to built up his sleeping place and found a pillow and a bedspread in the bed drawer. Just when he was about to spread out the blanket, Clara came back from the bathroom.

“You already managed? Great. When I do it, it always hangs at one point,” she scratched her temple, while she rubbed her wet hair with a towel. She was now wearing a dark shirt and some shorts, as well as two oversized socks. _She still was beautiful,_ Randall thought.

“I set the alarm for seven, okay?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“When you wake up before, feel like home. You can take a shower. Towels are in the bathroom. Coffee is in the cupboard and the machine is there,” she pointed at it.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on the coffee machine for a second, “Good.”

Clara had walked over to him, till she had reached the kitchen counter, one hand cautiously gliding over the cold surface. The exact spot, where their adventure had started not long ago. Randall watched her doing it. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he smiled, and waited till she had vanished into her bedroom and then lay down onto the couch. His hand groping for the light switch and then the light went out. It didn’t stop him to stare toward the ceiling for a while, pondering over his thoughts, asking himself if he should regret this night. The last thought he had, before falling asleep, was he wouldn’t.

It was around quarter past six, when the morning sun on his face woke him up. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. When he rose his head to look around, the memories of the last night flashed up in his head.

Bleary he rubbed over his face and listened into the room. Everything was quiet. Clara seemed to be still asleep. Once more he took a deep breath before he decided to stand up. Surprisingly he noted that the sofa had been more comfortable as it had looked the evening before.

He reached for his trousers, placed them over his arm and with naked feet he toddled into the direction of the bathroom and closed the door carefully.

It was a small manageable bath, with a washing machine and a dryer, aside from them a shelf with towels. He decided to take Clara’s invitation to feel like home almost literally and shoved his shirt and undershirt into the dryer, so it would get a bit fresher, as he probably would have no chance to change before heading to the office. He moved the turn-switch onto five minutes and then removed his boxer shorts and went to take a shower.

Covered in warm water he eyed the good collection of shampoo bottles. Curious of what possibilities he had, he smelled at each bottle and ended up with some kiwi scent shampoo. When he heard the dryer come to an end, he closed the tap and stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his hip and saw Clara’s toothbrush by the sink and there he wished he would have one with him. As he hadn’t, he took some tooth cream and placed it on his finger and rubbed his teeth like this. He had done worse, and had improvised a lot back in his times as war reporter in Croatia, also he would be happy to be in his office, as he knew he had a toothbrush there. He finished his procedure with some mouth wash and then checked his breath against the hollow of his hand. He felt slightly uncomfortable, but it worked fine.

Then he took the shirts out of the dryer and dressed himself with his trousers and his shirt, leaving the last two buttons open. With his hands he brushed his wet hair backward.

Back in the living room he listened once more, it was still silent, but short before seven. The alarm would go off soon. He walked over to the coffee machine and place a pad into it. As they had the same at the office in the break room he knew at least how it worked. Finding two mugs in the cupboard he placed them aside the machine and took the milk from the fridge.

Then the door of the bedroom went open and Clara came out, still in her pyjama. For a couple of seconds she stood there and looked at Randall, as if she had forgotten, that he had stayed the night.

He threw her an disarming smirk, “Good morning. Coffee?”

She nodded before she said, “I would like that,” after that she went to the bathroom, brushing her teeth, combing her hair and returned after short moments.

Randall was about to place her mug under the machine, when Clara stepped aside him and watched him in his actions. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” he poured sugar into his mug. “It’s more comfortable as one might think, when looking at it,” he pointed toward the sofa, on it still the crumbled up bedsheets and the used pillow, and sat down on one of the chairs.

Clara waited till her coffee was done, and then grabbed her mug and stepped toward the table. Randall seemed to be lost for a moment in his thoughts, staring into the nothing, while nipping from his coffee.

She only could guess what his thoughts were. With an article? With last night? How he should act at this morning after?

Or it was simply a moment of rest, of piece, he enjoyed in his way. How could she have known, how he usually spent his mornings in his home, and she guessed he not very often stayed at the places of others.

She tried to be as quiet as possible, to not disturb him and rip him out of his universe and also to take the chance to look closer at him in such an intimate moment. A morning, after she had seen him naked, after she had come under his motions, had tasted his tongue and had felt his passion.

She wasn’t a type for One-Night-Stands, what didn’t mean, she hadn’t have one or two in her life. In the basics she wasn’t the type for it, but sometimes they were not preventable. The mornings after where mostly — when there were some — usually pretty awkward, hectically and filled with empty phrases.

Sentences like ‘ _See you’_ , ‘ _You need to know I am actually in a relationship’_ or the simply, plain lie ‘ _I call you’_. That were the rules. After the kick, there comes the hangover.

At least, that was what she always had thought, because right now, in this moment with Randall, somehow the rules seemed not to apply.

The strict man she knew from the office, with the sharp haircut and the tailor-made suits, was sitting in her kitchen, the tie still hanging over the other stool, the shirt loose by the collar — Clara was so used to his controlled appearance, that he now almost looked rebellious to her. His hair wet, a few drops running down his neck, seeping into the fabric of his shirt. Randall drank his coffee and it didn’t look as if he was in any hurry to leave her place.

Surely, if she would ask him to leave, he would pack his stuff and would rush away. Later in the office they would meet again and do as if nothing had ever happened.

He wouldn’t treat her any worse or better and she would do her job the way she always had done it. That was sure for them both, unsaid. For that she knew Randall Brown all too well, as if he would treat her differently in the office, he wouldn’t fire her or would be more critical as he was already.

Clara saw a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, and she could remember feeling a faint stubble the night before. With the thought, a soft shudder ran down her spine, because she had liked to kiss him and be kissed by him.

Her gaze on him she walked around the table, coming to an halt aside from him, her hip touching his shoulder deliberately. She placed her cup onto the table and reached for the milk and the sugar.

Randall, startled by her touch and motion, gave her a quizzical look and when he saw that she seemed busy with the sugar box, he risked to let his gaze wander over her hip, over her bottom down to her naked legs.

She was standing way too close and when he would move the hand that was resting on his left thigh just an inch, he would be able to touch her with his pinky and his ring finger. His fingertips twitched, when he felt Clara’s hand on his temple.

“Your hair is wet,” carefully and hesitating the cups of her fingers trailed along the edge of his ear down to his neck and made him give a little gasp of surprise.

He didn’t turn away with his head, instead he looked again to her upper thigh, and gave into the urge to touch her there. Ever so slowly he caressed her warm skin with two fingers, “Yes,” he answered, before he took his hand away again and glanced at his shoulder where her hand rested.

_It was not good_ , he thought. He should go now, but he couldn’t find the strength to stand up and leave.

The touch sent a second shiver through Clara and she found herself disappointed when it ended after only a few seconds. It would be better to step away from him, and ask him to go, but she didn’t wanted him to go.

Instead she raised her hand from his shoulder, hoovered with it in the air for a moment, waiting for a reaction - something like an evading. When no came, she touched his face, as cautious as his ear.

When her fingers touched the five o’clock shadow on his cheek he leaned without hesitation into the touch. His eyes fell shut and he turned his head like a cat to give Clara more space to touch. It was a foolishness, and yet he stretched out his hand, searched the contact and moved at the inside of her thigh downwards to her knee pit.

Clara’s touches got more intense. Her hand caressed through his hair, toward the other side of his face and Randall laid his face automatically onto her covered belly. She turned with her body toward him and let him embrace her with his other hand without contradiction.

Why did he feel so safe with her? Why did his heart beat in joyousness over her touch and her closeness? It was not right. It was against the odds, and what had happened he couldn’t reverse - he not wanted to reverse it, but he could prevent them from tumbling into something they never could control.

Clara felt his hands at her hip, first gentle and then she felt the firmness, and how he rose from his chair and gently pushed her away from him. As she was still barefoot she realised only now, that he was almost one foot taller as her, towering over her with a look that seemed to burn a hole into her.

Aside he had brought a good distance between them, his hands still rested on her hips and her hands on his forearms. Clara looked at him in confusion.

“We really shouldn’t doing this,” he whispered.

“Why not?” her fingers curled into the muscles of his arms and Randall lowered his eyes to watch her tiny fingers fondle him. He had not much resistance left.

“To do it once, can count as a mistake,” he breathed heavy, one hand coming up to her face, lingering in the air, tempted to touch her. Fighting with his inner self over what to do. “It would be excusable. To do it a second time…,”

“... would be a foolish thing to do, wouldn’t it?” her hands shoved up his arms, bringing her closer again. He let her. What could another kiss damage, what hadn’t been damaged the night before?

And yet. He needed to stop it, not because he was her boss, not because he could be her father, but because it wouldn’t work out in the end. Because he was not the kind of guy, sleeping with a younger colleague and ending up in an affair that would end sooner or later, and would leave them behind - still working together, facing each other every day.

A good working bond then shattered. One of them would have to leave then and he knew he had promised Clara a permanent job the day before, because she was good and someone the magazine needed. Now they had slept together, it made him to be susceptible to blackmail, even he never believed Clara would do such thing. Also there were people in higher positions, who could play this card, and could ruin his career and Clara’s.

It might would have been different, when they would have gotten involved after she would have signed a permanent contract, after she wasn’t an internship anymore. Right now everything was too complicated and in his eyes was doomed to end in tragedy.

He shoved her away again, “Deliberate foolishness always has consequences, Clara,” he tried to sound stern, and it seemed to have worked, as Clara’s hands dropped to her side and her expression shifted into a deep frown on her forehead. It hurt him.

She expected him to explain his action, and because he hadn’t a plan how to say it, the only thing that came to his mind was, “I usually don’t do this.”

Now that made Clara take a big step back, turning around to the coffee machine on the counter, switching it off. “Are you apologizing now?”

He was well aware of the sharp tone in her voice, the teacher voice, he called it. Intimidated by it, he hid his face, by reaching out for his tie, and bringing it around his neck. It was always better for him, when his hand were kept busy, “Yes.”

Clara swirled around and watched him fumble with his tie, “What for? The sex?”

Her straightforwardness, made him slip with the fabric of the tie, and he had to restart the knot he had almost finished, “Clara. You know…,” he let go of his tie, and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not? Because we work together?” her answers where like a backfire, fast and hard, as if she had such conversation before. Or as if she had reckoned with his reaction. For a second, he couldn’t decide what would hurt him more and then he knew he shouldn’t think about such thing at all. Too late obviously.

He swayed with his head slightly, he couldn’t hold back the sarcastic expression, while he finished up the tie, “That would be a good reason.” Randall brought up the shields.

“No one will hear about it, not from me, okay?” she didn’t want to, but she became impudent. “It was just sex, Randall. It was fun. End of line. Get dressed and just … leave.”

Randall didn’t know what had happened. A minute ago he had shared with this beautiful, wonderful woman a wonderful, intimate moment and now she was about to kick him out. It was his fault of course, he probably hadn’t been very tactful.

On the other side, couldn’t she understand or see the worries? The consequences? Perhaps not. Or perhaps she could and had decided not to care. Clara Oswald was not only younger, she was also braver than Randall ever could be.

Taking his jacket and coat and leave was the easy option, and he considered it truly over her angry expression. God, how could someone look so bossy and beautiful at the same time? No, he closed his eyes, turning around, he shouldn’t think like that.

Clara huffed over the missing reaction, but expected him to leave, as soon as she started to ignore him and that was what she did, cleaning the mugs and some plates. They had been cleaned already, but she now needed to do something before she would tell him to stay. To talk about it, to tell him that it hadn’t been a stupid mistake for her. Not a fling. Something else. Something more, whatever ‘ _more’_ was and could be. They could talk about it, and find out.

She heard him put on his shoes, and knew it was too late now. He would leave, they would never talk about it again and she would regret her behaviour for the rest of her life.

And then instead of going, Randall turned around again, “Like hell I will!” he called out, before even knowing what he was talking. A thick Scottish brogue in his voice

“Beg you pardon?” she turned around, her hands wet, and reached irritated for a towel.

“I don’t sleep with you, and then run away, just like that, as if nothing has happened,” he raised on hand. “That would have been possible yesterday, but now, the ship has sailed long time ago.”

His odd phrasing made it hard for her to keep stern. She couldn’t even tell why she was so mad at him. Maybe because he had started to apologize, “What do you want then?”

‘ _You, damn it!’_ he thought, but before he could open his mouth his phone rang. That only could be the office. Quickly he passed Clara and pulled his phone out of his jacket. “Brown?”

He listened for a few seconds, “Alright, I am coming. Call Clara and Danny, they shall come too, in case they are not there. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he turned around to Clara, his jacket in his hand. “That was Bel. There was a bomb alarm in the office. It seems we stirred someone awake with our researches.”

Then Clara’s phone rang the moment she wanted to answer.

Randall waited till she had talked with Bel, then shoved over his jacket and then dotted one finger at her, “This conversation isn’t yet finished,” his eyebrows underlined his words, it was not an optional question.

Then he gave her a soft smile, “I see you in the office,” and left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I had to return back to the side story of Clara's story and everything. I have a plan for it too and it will (hopefully) go hand in hand with the story line of Randall's and Clara's romance in this story.


	9. 09_The Bomb Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a bomb threat at the office. How will the "Gang" deal with it and will Clara and Randall find a moment to talk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, I usually try to answer the biggest part of it, don't be sad if I haven't answer your comment, I am sure I will answer your next! Now enjoy the next chapter! Also I have renamed this story. It's now only "Choices we make".

Clara left her flat a few minutes after Randall, still slightly befuddled from the argument they had and his insisting promise, that they would talk about it in the future. Clara didn’t know why she had wanted to throw him out so desperately and she had to admit, with every other man, that might had worked out. She knew she could be quite alarming with people and man. Also it seemed she had taken the one man, that wasn’t easily frightened by her, home — and deep down, she was glad she had.

Sometimes she started to behave like an idiot, saying things that made no sense in the end — not to her and not to others, and she knew, she would have regretted it five minutes later, if Randall would have gone. And as she was bossy and stubborn, she would never had said something to him. That she was sorry, as example. One problem less.

Throwing over some clothes, she grabbed her back and hurried out of her door, down the staircase, she almost run into a quizzical looking guy, with dark hair and a package in hand.

“Sorry,” she muttered, almost passing by, but then her manners got the better of her. “Can I help you? You look like you are looking for someone.”

“Oh, yes, ahm,” the man smiled, licking his lips, “I… I was looking for Miss Mitchell.”

“Mitchell, you say? No, I don’t think we have a Miss Mitchell in the house.”

“No? This is number 10, isn’t it?”

Clara smiled up to him, “No, that’s eight. So, problem solved.”

“Ah thanks, really. My mistake,” he answered her smile with a shrug as if to say how dumb he was. “Thanks for your help. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” Clara answered. “Sorry, I have to dash,” and with that she hurried down the stairs and left the building, to half walk, half jog toward the office.

Randall reached the office, as promised, twenty minutes later, finding Bel and Freddie stand in front of it, watching the police and some people in suits hectically walking around. The entrance was blocked by officers and barrier tape.

“So, what is the story?” Randall asked, and Bel opened her mouth in attempt to tell him more, when she saw how he looked. A five o’clock shadow, his hair slightly out of order and if she wasn’t mistaken, he was wearing the same suit as yesterday. That never had happened before.

“What happened with you?” she so instead asked.

“Busy night,” Randall only said and pulled out a handkerchief to clean his glasses. They were not dirty, they both knew that. “So? Bel, enlighten me?”

“An hour ago, a bomb warning came in to the front desk. They called authorities, the people you see here, and they evacuated the whole building and now no one is allowed inside,” Bel began to explain, when she saw Danny and Clara arrive from different direction.

“Hey guys,” Clara greeted.

“Hey!” Danny stood aside Freddie, they both shook hands. “Do they know who was it?”

“No,” Freddie went on. “They just started to go inside with dogs and as they told me, it will take at least all of the morning.”

Randall shoved one hand through his hair, well aware of his state, and he noticed that Clara glanced at him, knowing she was involved in this. “Someone is very angry with us.”

Bel looked at him, “What do you think? Do you think this has something to do with the attack on Clara?”

Randall looked around, “Not here. Anyone interested in breakfast? Except coffee, I had none.”

Across the office was a little dinner, and so they all settled down there, knowing they couldn’t do much at the outside.

Sitting in one of the big booths, they waited till everybody had coffee or tea and had ordered breakfast. Clara sat in the right corner aside Danny, Randall had taken a chair to sit at the front, and on the other side, Freddie shared his bench with Bel.

“It’s Friday, it’s deadline for the print,” Randall began. “I don’t think there is a bomb in the building. Whoever made that call, knew the police would come and search every corner, and that takes time. Time we don’t have today.”

Freddie laughed up, “Damn, you are right. If we can’t finish the data up today, there will be no print on Saturday and now delivery on Sunday.”

“Who ever this is, is trying to make the next issue not come out? What for?” Danny asked. “I thought you decided, that the article is now in Freddie’s hand, and we wouldn’t publish yet.”

“We don’t,” Randall nodded drinking from his coffee. “This is a warning.”

“A warning? Do they know we still research?” Clara frowned, shoving the glass with the sugar absently around.

“Maybe they have a hunch,” Freddie played with a pen he had found in his jacket. “They try to intimidate us. First you, and now this.”

“They for sure don’t know,” Bel said. “Nobody except us knows about the original article and only we know, that Freddie has taken over. Did you talk to anyone recently? Someone who could have betrayed us?”

Freddie went through his contacts, and the people he had spoken, “I made inquires, nothing big, nothing too obvious. Either those people are really smart - and that I doubt because that doesn’t even happens in movies, or they just want to make sure, we stop.”

“I think that too,” Randall agreed. 

Freddie and Randall shared a glance, and then next with Bel. Danny and Clara looked at eachother, clearly missing something.

“What?” they both asked.

Freddie answered for them all, “Doing a bomb threat, on a guess, because of some silly little corruption.”

“You think it’s something bigger?” Clara asked, slowly realizing what that would mean. 

Randall didn’t like it, nothing of it. Also he knew, when there was a bigger story, it had to come out. They had to work for it, bring it up and spread it, and he knew, after all what had happened till now; it was a dangerous game. “Take the clues, put them together, what do you get?”

“Something big.”

“Exactly,” Bel answered to her. Even she knew they all were now involved into something, and as they were all good and eager journalists, there was no chance of stopping it now. Something was about to move.

“Also we can’t do much about it now,” Randall’s hands slid along the edge of the table, thinking. When he looked up again, he caught Clara’s attention. “As soon as we can go back in, we have to take care of the issue. It has to be printed, if not it will cost us a lot of money, and that is the first step into a misery we don’t want to have.”

“How long did they say it will take, till they made clear, everything is okay?” Danny asked, spotting the waitress with their orders.

“Noon, probably,” Bel sighed.

“Can we still make it?” Clara asked apprehensively.

“We can,” Bel smiled disenchanted. “Also it will cost us all our sleep for tonight.”

Randall shoved some scrambled eggs over to Freddie, “In case anyone has a date or something,” it was not his intention, but his eyes landed on Clara when he said it. Quickly aware what it told about him, he doted toward the tissues by her side. “Thanks. You have to cancel it.”

Bel groaned, and they all knew why. It would be a long day, and a long night, but they couldn’t allow the magazine not to be at the kiosk on Sunday morning. They all knew, they would basically fall out of the office somewhere between Saturday night and the morning.

After a while of silent eating, Clara began to chuckle, while she was lost in thought over her sandwich.

“What is it?” Danny turned toward her, a smile on his face.

Clara blushed under the questioning looks of her friends and colleagues, knowing she now had to tell, “Ah, I just…,” coyly she gave Randall a smirk. “Look at us, we are like a gang, or something.” Freddie chuckled. The way they all shared the moment in a little dinner, had him made think the same.

“Well, maybe we should come up with a name then,” Bel suggested mouth half full with bread.

“We are not a gang,” Randall interrupted and the way they all stared at him, he knew they thought he would spoil the little fun they had. “We are a team, and that’s what we need to be.”

“Do you think it will get more serious?” Clara asked him.

“I think, this is only the first step. If we decide to go on,” he hesitated, “it probably will get nasty.”

Danny lowered his cup, “What do you mean by nasty?”

“If I knew… but I don’t,” one of his hands came around his throat, rubbing over his skin, noticing that he needed to shave, and even more — change clothes.

“We know we have to go on. This act, tells how important it is to reveal the truth,” if there was one for an adventure it was Freddie. Despite all he had went through, he was willing to go the way, to take the risk and pay the price.

Another silent moment came up and they finished their meals, then Randall reached for his wallet and placed a 50 pound note onto the table, “Listen, we meet up again at eleven, and hope we can go back to work. So long, … do whatever you need to do and can do.”

“But… what shall we do?” Clara asked unsure how to take his command.

Randall rolled his eyes, “What? Do you don’t have…,” he looked around in the dinner, as if he could find the rest of his sentence by the counter, “laptops? Smartphones?” They all stared at him, as if they never had heard about such thing. He huffed, and realized, that all their work laptops where in the building, and the files were not available somewhere else.

Bel rose an eyebrow at him, almost remembering him, that now would have been a good moment, to regret that he never had agreed to an open network in the “cloud”.

“ _I am not from the dark ages, Bel,” he had told her. “I know very well what a “cloud” is, and no it’s not the white spot in the sky, if you look outside.”_

“ _One day, you will regret it!”_

“ _One day, they will steal our data,” he had rejected vehemently. “The word is cybercrime. It’s not save. The final product has to lay in a secure network and not a cloud. That’s my final decision.”_

“ _You really know about this stuff, don’t you? Wow, I am really impressed.”_

“ _I am old, Bel. Not dead!”_

“Then go, catch up some sleep,” he then said so loud it almost sounded like a bark. Randall felt immediately sorry, knowing it was his lack of sleep and the fact, that people took actions against the magazine, against the freedom of speech. “I mean... I am sorry. Do whatever you like. Eleven o’clock.”

For a moment he hesitated, checking Clara’s expression, but couldn’t figure it out, and so he nodded toward Bel and Freddie and hovered with his hand over Danny’s shoulder, but didn’t touch him, “Make sure they all give something for the tip.” And then left the dinner.

He needed some fresh clothes. He not only was unbearable because he lacked some sleep, he was also unbearable because his clothes seemed to smell of Clara’s apartment and of the woman herself. He smelled of kiwi and for a moment in the dinner he was afraid everyone else could smell that he had used kiwi shampoo instead of his usual non definable shower gel. 

He knew it was only his imagination, but that imagination was strong enough to drive him crazy inside his mind. He needed to shave, shower again, rub her away, because he couldn’t concentrate with her scent on his body and in his nose. Randall knew he was unable to function like this, not as long as they hadn’t finished the conversation they had started before they had got interrupted.

When he had seen her sit in the corner of the booth, his first instinct had been to follow her, to sit aside her, and then he knew it would have told too much, and he had slowed down his pace, in order to do so as if he was studying the menu from another table, till Danny had passed him.

The truth was, he still felt her lips on his, the taste of her in his mouth, her body against his and he knew he was so close to making a mistake with her.

His car was still parked where he had left it yesterday, and he wondered if Bel had seen it. Probably not, as he usually parked around the corner of the next street. Some car had parked a wee bit too close in his opinion and he fret over it under his breath. When he looked closer, he saw a man sitting behind the wheel, and approached the driver’s side, disturbing a young man, playing with his phone.

Knocking at the glass, Randall rolled his eyes, but waited patiently till the man had rolled down the window, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, indeed you can,” Randall tried to give him a polite smile. “Would you mind, driving a bit back, so I can park out,” he pointed toward his Mercedes in front of them. “Won’t like to scratch your car.” He gave the ugly Ford a glance over. The bully thing would probably hurt more his car as anything else.

The man looked at him for long seconds, that Randall thought he didn’t understood English, “Sure. Sorry. My mistake.”

“It’s fine,” he nodded and gave him one of his brief smiles, that not reached his eyes. Then he hopped into his car, waited till the car behind him had backed up, and with a buzzing mind he drove home.

Clara watched him leave the dinner, while the others finished their plates and ordered some more coffee. Seeing him walk away, made something sting inside of her. She had noticed, when they had entered the dinner, that he was up front before all the others. It would have been natural to sit down on the bench and as she was first, she would have sat aside from him. Then he had slowed down, reading a menu, and Danny had passed him, and so she ended up in the corner, aside from Danny, away from him.

She was still slightly angry at him, about his try to apologize, but she knew she hadn’t been very nice to him, when she had wanted to kick him out, and she was glad he didn’t leave in that moment. They really had to talk, and she felt rushing feelings inside of her. An urge to do it instantly, to shove misunderstandings out of the way and to clear up what the evening before had been all about. Also now, with the bomb threat, the time schedule to be at sixes and sevens, she knew they first had to take care of the magazine and only then could take care of what stood between them.

Someone asked her something, and she snapped out of her trail of thoughts, “Mh?”

“Coffee?” Bel asked.

“No, thanks, I had enough,” she smiled, eating the last bite of her sandwich. “So, is there really nothing we can do till eleven?”

“Not really,” Bel shrugged and stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “Randall was right, we only can wait. I’ll gonna make some phone calls, telling the editors about the situation and I need to talk to the printery.”

“I’ll go home, and go back to my research,” Freddie followed Bel up. “I need to make some calls as well.”

“Freddie, did you find out more?” Clara asked.

He swayed with his head from left to the right, “I am not sure yet, but I think I am onto something.” The way he expressed it, told Clara not to ask further, so she only nodded. He would tell them more if he was certain.

“Be careful,” Danny looked up, knowing about Freddie’s past and sensing that this bomb threat could maybe only the beginning of something big.

“I will, mate,” Freddie winked at him, and turned to leave, when Bel stopped and turned back to Clara.

“Oh, and Clara…,” Bel pondered over how she should say it. “Did… did Randall talk with you?”

Clara smiled, “Yes, he did.”

Bel couldn’t read if it had been a good or a bad talk, “I hope he was not all of a… a twat.”

The memories of the last night, urged a blush into her cheeks, “No, he... he wasn’t,” she smiled sheepishly.

“Shall we talk, when all this is over? Monday morning?” Bel suggested. She still didn’t know if Clara was about to quit or not. Right now she didn’t care, as long as she wouldn’t do it today.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’ll come to your office.”

“Great, I’ll see you later.”

After that Clara went lost in thought, mostly about Randall, and also about her article Freddie was now dealing with. She was still bitter that he and Bel had taken it away from her. Not that she didn’t saw the necessity, but who liked to get taken away a project? She thought about the bomb threat and if it would end with it. If it was good what she had started.

She had totally forgotten about Danny, who was dipping some pastry into his tea, watching her out of the corner of his eye. When she didn’t react after a minute he turned toward her and stared at her till her eyes flickered over to him, and she shook herself out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, I was… thinking,” she smiled with a blush.

“I could see that,” he chuckled. “You’re still unsure if you should quit or…” Danny knew her well enough to know he shouldn’t press anything. He came along good with her. 

As they were both the new ones back in the days they had been hired by Randall, they had become a community of purpose, and later friends. In the beginning he had thought about asking her out for dinner, finding her smart and interesting and he could sense, she had thought the same. Then they seemed to remember that the office did frown on seeing staff having relationships, and so they decided in an unspoken idea, to go as friends.

Now that Danny asked her, she realized, that she hadn’t really thought about it since she had left the office with Randall the night before. Over all what had happened the past 24 hours, Clara had totally forgotten, that she had considered to quit. The conversation with Randall had helped to clear her mind, also she wasn’t sure a 100% how she should decide now.

“I…,” she shrugged, already about to get lost in thoughts again, but then pulled away from them, giving Danny the attention he deserved. “I’m not sure. So many things are going on. To be honest, I haven’t thought about it properly.”

“I thought you have talked with Randall?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, feeling a blush. “I have, but you know Randall… it’s not like he tells you what to do.”

“It’s more a suggestion, mh?” Danny chuckled and grabbed for his jacket.

Clara looked up to him, and then followed, “Yes, more a suggestion.”

“Well, if it helps,” he held the door open for her. “I would miss you.”

“I would miss you too, Danny,” Clara touched his back, smiling. “What are you going to do till eleven? Need some company?”

“Sure, I have to get a book, a birthday present. Wanna join me?”

And so Clara did, and they spent the hours at Foyles browsing books. Clara was just about to browse through a new crime novel she thought about to get, when she raised her view and caught a glimpse of a man standing across the room by the astronomy section. Her brow furrowed, something in the person's posture seemed familiar, aside he was turning his back on her. The man was tall, and wearing a black coat and she could see the grey hair on the back of his head.

‘ _Randall?’_ she kept looking, waiting if she was right or if it was just someone who looked alike. Then the man turned slightly, obviously searching for another book in the shelf, and Clara saw his profile.

There was a certain distance between them, and maybe it was only a trick of the light, but the man indeed looked a bit like Randall, except he didn’t. No glasses, no suit. Actually it couldn’t be him, she thought, as he had said he would go home, also it was already over an hour. She glanced toward the clock, on the other side of the room.

“Clara?” Danny called out her name, holding up a sketching book for kids in his hands. “What do you think?”

“Hm?” for a moment she had forgotten why they were here, and then she remembered that Danny needed a birthday present for his five year old godchild. “Oh, yes, seems perfect!”

Danny smiled in appreciation, she knew he would buy it then. “You going to buy anything?” he pointed toward the book she was holding.

“Ah,” she turned around again, toward the corner she had seen the man, but he was gone. “No, I have already enough to catch up at home.”

They both walked to the cashier and Clara hoped she would see the man again, asking herself if he really had been Randall or just someone who looked like him. Sometimes the mind played tricks, she knew that. It wouldn’t wonder her, as she had him in her conscious all morning long. She would ask him later.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! It's obvious, Randall and Clara didn't find a moment for talking ;). Mean writer I am, but don't worry, next chapter could be your chapter!  
> I am happy you people seem to still enjoy this story, and always leave a comment, a critic an idea, don't be afraid, i will not going to eat you and I can take critic (constructive).


	10. 10_You do something to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes actions talk more than words. And yet, words are necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to let you hanging there so long, but I had to take care of other fics (some of you maybe know). Now I am more free for this one and I hope I will update weekly (can't make promises!).  
> It's a long chapter, so the wait was worth it I hope.  
>  Also if anything is interested in listeing to some music while reading that fits, I made a playlist already back when I was writing “Collide” and still add songs when I hear one fitting. (it’s a spotify list, not sure if it works for eveyone)
> 
> **_<https://open.spotify.com/user/1121833900/playlist/29YCnpIyqtfKTOEH51gxu1>   
>  _ **

They found each other in front of the office building at eleven o’clock, but they weren’t allowed to go in till noon, when that hour finally came, they all paced inside like busy bees.

They met up in the meeting room. Clara noticed that Randall was wearing a fresh suit in light grey, had shaved and looked a bit fresher as in the morning. She guessed he had taken another shower, she didn’t know why, she just was very certain about it. No, it hadn’t been him in the book store.

For a moment he noticed her inquisitive eyes on him and he rose both his eyebrows as if asking, if something was wrong, but Clara only gave him a smile and then turned toward her papers, while they waited for Bel to come to the conference room, to tell them how the plan for the day would go.

“So good news,” Bel approached the desk, and leaned against it, aside Randall, “the police couldn’t find a bomb.”

Relieve ebbed through the room.

“Bad news, we are late for the print. We are missing five hours and when we want to come out on Sunday, we have to put a little more effort into it as usual,” the people in the room groaned.

It was usually always a busy Friday, but now it would be a very late Friday too. They had to send the data till the morning, so the magazine could be proof printed and then finally be printed and delivered in the country, to be set out at the news stands on Sunday morning.

“We count on everyone here,” Bel went on. “Someone tries to stop us from publishing. We don’t know why and what the motives are,” it was a lie, only the close circle knew about, “but we going to show them that we are not frightened and we will come out on Sunday!”

People applauded and then went back to work, finishing up the articles, editing the magazine and proof reading the already written articles.

“How was that?” Bel turned to Randall with a smug smile.

“Not bad, every Friday I remember why I made you come here,” he gave her a short smile. “It will be a long day.”

“Yes, it will,” Bel nipped from her coffee and went back to her office, she herself had two articles that had to be done by three o’clock and several other articles she had to take a closer look at.

Randall followed her to take care of his own articles and some organizing that had to be done. When he crossed by Clara’s and Danny’s office, she was alone, and on the spur of the moment he stopped, knocking against the door frame.

Clara raised her head, pressing a few buttons on her laptop, saving her article. It took Randall a moment to speak up, he hadn’t had a plan what to say and Clara could see it. She smiled at him, throwing him a lifeline, “You wanted to ask about my article?”

“Yes,” he took it gratefully. “You going to make it?”

“I think so, yes,” she nodded, her thumbs nervously tracing along the edge of her desk, what Randall couldn’t see from his point of view. “It was almost done before … you know, so I think I am done in an hour or two and then I will help the others.”

He wanted to step inside, he wanted to be closer to her, he wanted to talk with her, “Clara-”

Clara chose the same exact moment to inquire if he had been at the book store, “Have you been-”

They both chuckled, “Sorry.”

“Have I been what?” Randall asked, hoping for a longer conversation, aside not knowing what she would ask him. He knew they were under pressure now, and he should do his work, knowing every minute wasted could be missing in the end, what could lead to a failure.

The feeling inside of him, was stronger as his duty call, the feeling to clear things up between him and Clara, talk about the night they had spent and how they should proceed from now. He needed to know what she thought about it, her reasons.

“Have you-”

Danny interrupted, by coming back, glancing between Randall and Clara, immediately noticing he had interrupted an important conversation, “Sorry, shall I leave again?”

Randall didn’t dare to tell him that he should, and left the decision to Clara, knowing she wouldn’t send him away.

“No, it’s fine,” she waved him in. “We were talking about the article. And I really got going,” she made a gesture to her laptop with a grimace, and Randall stepped back a little.

“Of course.”

“We…,” she spoke up louder to stop him. “We talk later? If this is fine for you?”

Somewhere in his body his heart missed a beat over the relieve her words evoked in him, “Yes. Good.”

Then he left, feeling Danny’s eyes on him.

\---

The day had been long, stressful and exhausting and when they finally had submitted the last bit of data to the printers, it was short before one o’clock at night.

“I think we are fine,” Bel stood in Randall’s office, yawing. “I told them they shall call me, in case there is any problem, and Richard from editing volunteered to be here tomorrow in case anything comes up.”

Randall nodded absently, he was about to fall asleep right where he was. “We made it, that’s important, and we can be proud.”

“We can. Whoever this is, they are not going to stop us that easily.”

“You should go home now,” Randall said. “I’ll lock the office and check that everyone's gone home. Get some sleep and enjoy your weekend.”

“Yes, you too,” Bel smirked, and turned to leave. “Get rest Randall, you looked horrible today!”

He was too tired to say something about it, and let her go. Bel was right anyway, he had lack of sleep from the night before and the day had been demanding and now he was dead tired. The moment he was about to fall asleep in his chair, it knocked at his door. Clara.

“Tired?” she didn’t look very fresh herself.

“Gruesome tired,” he smiled and rubbed his eyes, which must be red by now. “I need to go to bed.”

“You never going to make it till home in this state.”

He didn’t even try to disagree, “I know.”

“You can sleep at my place,” he looked up in surprise. “It’s way closer and you are already familiar with the sofa,” Clara was too tired to argue with him over it, or to make a comment that it was only about him sleeping at her place and not with her. “Whatever. I’ll go home now. If you like you can come,” without waiting for an answer, she turned around and walked down the floor toward the exit. The prospect of getting twelve hours of good sleep, was way more attractive as to wait for Randall all too long.

Randall swallowed. She was right, he wouldn’t be able to make it home and to sleep on the sofa in his office wasn’t all to aspiring. A bit sluggish he grabbed for his coat and his suitcase and followed her. In front of the building he had caught up with her.

Aside her apartment was only a twenty minutes walk, he grabbed her arm and hailed a cab over. Clara let him pull her into the cab without a word, while Randall named her address.

A few minutes later Randall paid - with an extra high tip - and waited by the main door, his head leaning against the cold wall, while Clara opened the door.

Unsure if he wasn’t already sleeping in this position, she carefully reached out for his fingers and pulled him with her. Reaching her apartment, she opened the door and made a gesture into the room, meaning he already knew where everything was.

Randall took of his shoes, placed his coat onto a hanger and walked over to the couch.

A bit sceptical he looked at it, while he watched Clara go into the direction of her bedroom. Without thinking he followed. When she noticed his intentions, she looked over her shoulder.

“Not the couch, then?”

He smiled exhausted, “I could sleep on the carpet if it would be necessary, but…”

“Oh, shut up, and I warn you, don’t try to steal my blanket,” she smirked, grabbed her pyjama and went to the bathroom to change.

Randall laughed, undressed himself to his undershirt and his underwear and crawled into the bed. It had her scent on it, and he took a deep breath of it, and after a few breaths he fell asleep.

When Clara came back, she saw Randall curled up in the blanket and breathing regularly. She moved over to the other side under the blanket, killed the light and curled up too, her face toward him. It didn’t take a minute and she was fast asleep.

At the next morning Randall woke up because something hit his stomach. Clara had turned from the left to the right and had thrown her arm over his upper chest. He looked around for a confused moment. How long had he been sleeping?

The sun was shining through the window and the clock on the night stand told him it was already nine in the morning.

He couldn’t remember when he had slept that long. Yawning he turned onto his side, and carefully placed Clara’s hand aside from him. She seemed deep asleep. Her brown, long hair covered part of her face and so Randall shoved a few strands over her forehead behind her ear with two fingers. She gave it a drowsy purr.

“What time is it?” she murmured, without opening her eyes.

“Short after nine.”

With her silence she expressed her moroseness, so far Randall could read her and smiled over it, while he stroked another strand of hair out of her face. Again she purred.

“You look beautiful, when you are all sleepy.”

Clara opened one eye and looked at him sceptical, “Yes, sure,” then she closed her eye again.

“Why do women never believe, when a man tells them, that they are beautiful?”

“Because it is mostly obviously a lie,” it came without a moment of hesitation from her lips.

“Why would we lie?”

“To get between the sheets,” Clara went on, sensing she might have done a mistake. When she opened her eyes she found Randall staring at her, a frown on his forehead. He was unsure how to take it. “I mean…”

“Do you think that?”

“What?”

“I would say something like that? To…,” Randall rolled onto his back. “I…”

Clara felt guilty now, knowing Randall was not one of those men who used compliments to get bonus points, “It was not my intention to make assumption about you. But…”

“But what?” he turned his head, his voice almost a bit too sharp.

Clara not frightened by it, suppressed a smile, her eyes wandering over him down to the blanket between them, “Look where you are.”

Again he frowned and then put her chain of thoughts together, he chuckled, “As far as I can remember I didn’t use compliments to get into your bed last night.”

“No, you didn’t,” she looked to the ceiling. “And you didn’t the night before, so.”

There was something in her words, something that told him, she not only said it offhand, even it sounded like it. No, he hadn’t told her that she was beautiful, he only remembered that he had wanted to tell her. And he remembered it was not him, asking her to come upstairs, it was her, and till now he hadn’t figured out her motives.

Randall bit his tongue, to stop himself from sputtering up all the thoughts in his head, “I still owe you an answer.”

She moved her head slightly toward him, for a second she didn’t know what he meant and then of course it hit her. The discussion they had the day before. The One-Night-Stand. Clara was no one who would retreat from a good discussion, but right now the only thing she wanted was to sleep a bit more, but she knew Randall wouldn't let her off the hook.

“It was stupid,” he began. “It was stupid to excuse myself.”

On Clara’s forehead a frown built up, for the moment she couldn’t imagine what he was about to try to express. So she kept quiet.

“To sleep with you, wasn’t a stupid idea…,” he felt his face getting red, and his blood rushing through his veins in distress. “But we work together, we could get more problems because of it, as we can imagine in the moment.”

Clara inhaled deep, shaking her head merely, “Yes, you are right, but no one knows, so what’s the big deal? Nobody knows that we slept together, or did you go round and did tell Bel?” she asked snide and he countered it with a glare.

“Clara, don’t you understand?”

“No.”

“Right now, I am laying in your bed, that’s no more a slip.”

“I can’t remember that we have slept together last night,” she answered quickly and turned.

“You know exactly, that it is a problem. If I would be someone like… Danny, I would dare to say, people would let us get away with it. But I am your supervisor and you are not laying in bed with someone like that, not even in a platonic way. Bloody hell!” he turned around too. So the conversation hadn’t been planned.

Clara turned around again, “What, bloody hell? What do you even want?”

Randall turned his head, “You,” and his own sincerity shocked him deeply.

Clara blinked a couple of times while processing what he had said, “How do you mean that?”

He huffed, knowing he had already said too much to do as if it was nothing, to retreat again. Who he wanted to fool? The whole morning he had spent home, showering and redressing he had thought about her. About the nice evening with her in the bar, her smiles and laughter when he had told her some old funny stories, and the way they had both had walked upstairs, about the little roleplay.

She had persuaded and had seduce him to something he never had thought would happen to him, and when someone had told him before about it, he had laughed and said, he never would do that with one of his internships. And then he had kissed her on the kitchen counter and had found himself intoxicated by her scent, her kisses and her moans under him, while he made love to her. In one night, he had fallen for a woman half his age. Had changed all his behaviour. And he didn’t know how to explain it to her, without sounding old, foolish and ridiculous.

He gave her a short, coy smile, “Like I said it,” he paused, gathering some courage. “I would like to kiss you right now, and sleep with you. And… and tomorrow night I want to come back and do the same over and over again.”

“W-why?”

Randall fell back onto his back, giving her question a laugh, “Jesus, you can ask questions! I… I enjoyed the evening with you, and I had the feeling you had enjoyed it too. And against all rational thoughts and all the rules, I … god I can’t believe I am saying that… I can imagine, to do it again,” one of his hands landed on his chest, feeling his heart race. “I can understand if you don’t, of course. Just say it. I will do as if nothing ever has happened,” he waited a few seconds, staring to the ceiling, and when no words came, the doubts filled his mind. “How stupid, of course you not want to repeat it. I am 57, and probably not the shag you had been looking for,” he realized he made a fool out of himself with every word he said. “Let’s forget about it. I’ll go,” he brought himself up and wanted to get out of bed.

“Randall,” a soft touch on his arm, made him stop.

“Mh?”

“Don’t. Don’t go, please,” she tugged at his shirt and waited till his head rested again on the pillow. “It was nice. Really nice, and I don’t care, that you are 57. It doesn’t matter, but I am not looking for a solid relationship. Do you understand?”

Unsure how to take it, he swallowed a lump in his throat away. He hadn’t been looking for a solid relationship either, he was so absorbed into work and into the idea that he was beyond his prime anyway, that he usually never spend time thinking about having a relationship again. Not that he was not sometimes looking at women. There was a café near his apartment, where he enjoyed taking breakfast on Saturday or Sunday, not seldom seeing the same people doing the same.

Some couples, and also two women going there alone, he guessed them a bit younger as him, but he couldn’t tell for sure, as he never made a move to chat up with them. He only shared shy glances and a smile here and there. Not that he not longed for a relationship, for a nice chat with a person of the other gender - and not only for work purpose - he simply never could imagine someone would find him interesting, when finding out more about him.

In the end he was a full blood journalist, only in possession of a telly, to watch the news and nothing else. Sometimes - so very rarely - he found an old black and white movie and watched it, till he almost dozed off. He had tons of books, but only a few were for pure pleasure like a crime novel, the rest was books about history, Sigmund Freud, journalism and globalisation. All the boring stuff, normal people obviously never read.

Even Bel, who had came by one evening, was staggered by the sheer amount of ‘ _non amusing books’_ , as she called it. He had laughed it off, and later found himself in front of his bookshelves and agreed in silence with her, while nipping form his tea.

Once there was a woman, he had seen her the first time in the café and also the last time, who seemed to be interested in him, she had sat down at his table, and was even able to make him talk, but he was not used to it, and soon he had found himself in an awkward silence, unsure what to say. It ended with him, excusing himself, and that he had to go.

Looking at Clara, who was waiting for a response, it wondered him, that someone as awkward as him, laid in bed with her right now, talking about relationships. Or rather, having not one.

So what was it then? He was not one for an relationship on the one hand, and on the other he was really no man for a One-Night-Stand, not with someone he knew so well, as he knew Clara. Clara did something to him.

“It was not my intention of making you a proposal or asking you to walk around Piccadilly hand in hand,” Randall rubbed his eyes and tousled his hair, feeling caught and unsure to where this conversation would lead. He was afraid, and didn’t know why.

“Ah,” she hummed. Clara was glad he didn’t propose, that it might was a bit early, and she indeed had no plans on marriage for the next five years - spare the fact, that she hadn’t a proper boyfriend at the moment.

The only thing she had was… him. Randall, the Head of News, her boss, laying in her bed, all fanciable. And it was the second part of his sentence, that made her give this meaningful ‘ _ah’_. His voice slightly breathy from sleep, and yet calm, not letting shine his feelings through.

It was true, she not wanted to have a long term relationship, she was busy with work, with her career. The work stint in the office was demanding and she had simply no time to do all this usual relationship stuff. Cinema. Candle light dinners. Dating.

When she had some free hours at hand, she spent it with research, learning, or drinking a beer with the others to come down from the busy work day. Sure, she would fancy a boyfriend, coming home to someone, snuggling into someone and smoothies were not all that bad, but she didn’t want to invest in it. The day only had 24 hours and she was busy all of them.

And yet, she had felt a strange sting in her chest, when Randall had told her he was not asking her for walking hand in hand. Randall did something to her.

“That was a very meaningful ‘ _ah’,_ don’t you agree?” he turned slightly toward her again.

“It was,” she copied his motion, and only a few inches separated there faces.

“What did it mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” she lied, and she could see he knew that she was lying, but was glad he was not pushing her.

For a while they kept silent, only looking at each other, and Clara had to battle down the urge to touch his face, as it was so close to her.

“You haven’t been by any chance at Foley’s yesterday morning?” Clara remembered the happening in the book store.

Surprised by the change of topic he needed a second, “No, I was at home. Why?”

She laughed, knowing it was ridiculous, “I could have sworn, I saw you in the astronomy section. Browsing books.”

“Me? At the astronomy section? Not that that will ever happen, Clara. I think I can tell, I possess not one book like that. Someone that simply looked like me?”

“That’s what I am saying, he looked like you. Not only familiar, he… looked like you, except the glasses and he was not wearing a suit, and his hair was more untamed,” she described from memory.

“So he looked not at all like me,” Randall teased.

“Oh come on, you know what they say!”

“What do _they_ say?”

“We all have a doppelgaenger somewhere in the world.”

“And you met mine at Foley's, in the astronomy book section?” he said provocative.

“Yeah, and he actually looked like a magician when I now think about it.”

“Oh, great god! My doppelgaenger is a magician, fancying the stars!”

“Now you are being silly,” Clara felt he made a joke out of her observation.

“Nothing I am often,” he said softly, finally finding the courage to touch her cheek.

“Why are you it now?”

“Don’t you know?” his eyes strayed around the room for a moment. “For the same reason, I usually not go home with one of my internships, late at night to sleep in on a Saturday, after a long day of work. For the same reason I don’t do … One-Night-Stands,” he saw her eyes widen, slightly covered in panic. “Don’t worry, I don’t propose.”

That made her relax and she laughed, “Good, I was really worried.”

A short pain flickered over his face, and when Clara had blinked she would have missed it, but she hadn’t, and she could tell he wasn’t aware that his emotions had slipped him. Then he took his hand away and Clara missed the contact. In instinct she reached for his hand, and slowly - under his pensive look - entwined her fingers with his.

“Would you really like to do that? Kiss me again, and come back tomorrow, to do it again?”

His chest became tight over the question and he knew he should better take it back and lie, for the sake of them both. Randall Brown was many things, he was not a liar, “Yes.”

“Why don’t you do it then?”

“Clara-”

“-No! Don’t tell me because you are my boss, or because you are not that young anymore. Don’t tell me because there are rules, because you already mentioned all this and I don’t give a damn,” he wanted to speak up, remind her what mistake it all would be, but she placed three fingers onto his lips. “I know. You told me, you wanted to give me the permanent contract, and you know, I would love to work for the magazine, but if you will get into trouble for it, leave it. I’ll find a job somewhere else.”

This argument made him come up and rest his body on his arm, “Did you really just tell me, that you would want me to kiss you, and for that give away a guaranteed job offer?”

She thought about it for a second. God, she was a fool for saying, “Yes.”

“Why?”

For a moment she wanted to tell him, tell him that she was rather fond of him, and that something had shifted in her since they had slept together. That she wouldn't be able to face him day by day, remembering him with her, and wouldn’t be able to touch him. She wouldn't take it too long, and probably quit, as soon as she could. To explain all this would take too long, and would make everything complicated and so she did the only thing she wanted to do, since she had woken up. Clara shot up and kissed Randall.

For a moment he didn’t respond, he couldn’t, he was way too overwhelmed and too startled, and the thoughts floated his memory, but Clara was stubborn as ever and kissed him more demanding, her hand cupping his cheek, pulling him down and he let her do it.

“That is the most stupid idea I ever had,” and with that he captured her lips again, holding her against his body.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that one! It's a lot of character exploring and I hope I do both of them justice. Relationships are never easy, most of it in the beginning. They try to find out what they want, without betraying their plan for their lives. And how it sometimes is, you do something for the other because you care so much for him. And it turns out to end in misunderstandings. Like in DW when Clara tells Danny was still alive and the Doctor tells Clara he found Gallifrey.


	11. 11_Coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall and Clara try to figure out what they have together. The way also leads only over many misunderstandings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, longer chapter, I really had fun writing it, as I could write discussions for those two all day long.

First he kissed her long and searing. Clara’s mouth opening to allow him more closeness and Randall took it, knowing what mistake he was about to do. Knowing it would lead to more kisses, would lead to him, trailing his lips over her body, over every inch of her skin till he knew every spot by heart, and would lead to the inevitable reality of him making love to her.

He took his time, there was no haste and Clara let him do as he pleased. To her it was, when his hand trailed in an endless motion down the inside of her arm, over her armpit, her side, with his fingertips over her hip, to the hollow of her knee, as if he was playing for time. Not because he not wanted it, more because he wanted it so badly, - that he didn’t trust himself.

Randall knew, the touch that had happened, had passed and wouldn’t come back. It was gone forever, and there was a moral certainty in him, that when this was over, it wouldn’t come back. Not in the pureness they just were in.

This time it was different, as when they had came to her place two days ago, this time he felt more free. He knew he always did, after the first time with a woman. Sadly in the last few years he never had the chance for a second time, and so this one he savoured.

Something was shadowing over them, and they both felt it, and they both couldn’t grasp it, let alone explain it. It was a beautiful Saturday, no work, no concerns - not yet - only kisses, and little murmurs of affection, touches of keen exploration and no one but themselves could stop them to drown in their act of sharing the moment, of becoming one. They were totally free. No one knew, and no one ever would.

When he brushed her hair out of her face, with his warm hand, on his face an emotion of intangibility about what was happening, Clara was able to see behind the walls he had built. A sensible man, who never had expected, to sleep with a woman again, like he did with Clara in this moment. Surrendering himself to her, for the act.

He had been right, she had been so busy finding out what was making him tick, what would bring him to the edge, thinking it must be something with force, that she missed, that it was the little things that torn him apart. Her hands entwining with his, when her climax shuddered through her. A kiss on the pulse at his throat, when his came over him.

The man, so stern, so distant sometimes that people called him a ghost - a cold, incorporeal being, was in truth so filled up with emotions and need, that it now was all clear for Clara. No words would this man ever hurt or bring him down his knees, the walls to thick for it. Walls that only could be torn down by hands, by touch and the touch it was what brought him over the edge in bed, and it would be a touch in the office, that would make him shift. Make him react.

Clara remembered the moment she saw as the initial of her little game. When Randall had stepped in, into the argument of Danny and the man he had interviewed about Racism.

‘ _A glare, a fire - one finger lingering by the chest of the prey, only hoovering, not touching.’_

And while they caught their breath, Randall pressed a gentle last kiss on her collarbone, rolling aside from her, she tried to find moments when he had touched. Someone, like Bel or her or Danny. There was none.

Before Thursday, in the café, he had never really touched her. Not on purpose. How was this even possible, how could one not touch someone else? She turned her head, looking at him, into his eyes. Faint sweat on his forehead and a beautiful flush in his cheeks, she was so close to jump at him with the question, how he did it? How he kept all the emotions in check under his skin, never losing a nerve?

She had no reason to scare him, and she called to her mind his daily presence at work. The suits, the glasses - he now wasn’t wearing - the reservedness, the way too talkative eyebrows. Randall Brown was not wearing the best suits in town — he was wearing an armour, and no one noticed.

Randall felt her eyes on him, and licked his lips, his eyes descending from her face, down to a spot by her hip. She had gathered up some sheets over her and his lower body. Her hand resting aside from her, aside his hand. He could swear every oath, that he could feel her aura there, a tingle, and worst - for him - he felt drawn to her. As if she was the ground and he a falling object, with only one direction and destination. Toward her. Her.

“I can see you think,” she whispered after a while and his eyes flickered in shock back to her. His hand retreating slightly from hers, what was not the easiest thing to do. He had no answer or a question for her. “It’s this part,” she placed two finger on the spot between his eyebrows, “In controls all of your face. From there every mimic starts, did you ever know that?”

He wanted to touch the spot by himself, and raised his hand to it. Then he realized Clara was still touching him there and he stopped moving. Feeling his skin twitch under her fingertips, she smiled faint and took her hand away.

“I can’t say, I did,” he found himself frown aggressively, the only moment he could actually feel the spot. Then he relaxed it and forgot for a moment, and smiled. He was sure she was right, Clara always had been a good observer.

¨Now you know,¨ she smirked, for a moment afraid of keeping the eye contact. Her body was still responding to him. Her skin was buzzing with energy and delight. Her heart was still pacing about to slowly settle down. First it had been the activity they had, now it was the anticipation. A calm fright, knowing they wouldn't fall asleep again, there was no postponing this time.

_¨Deliberate foolishness, always has consequences.¨_

_Now I know,_ he thought, his eyes blinking fast. Randall tried to come up with something to say, something he hadn't already said, as he guessed she would scold him for as soon as he would, for example use the age gap argument again.

The age gap was... not a problem, it was a thing, but not a problem, and it was weak, that he had to acknowledge.

¨Come on, say it!¨ Clara begun, looking again at him, pulling the blanket over her breasts. And when he indeed opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it, aside a bewildered look, she added, ¨Isn't that the part you stand up, get dressed, grab your things and start to lecture me?”

“Uhm, I beg you pardon?” Randall rose half from the bed, the bedspread falling into his lap.

“I can see it, Randall,” Clara came into an upright position, sitting cross-legged. “See you think. And this is the moment you will get up any second and tell me that it was a mistake, and we shouldn’t have done it. You will probably say, it was your mistake, because you are a gentleman. And then you will say something like,” Clara made a grimace and spoke on in a deeper voice, in try to imitate Randall, “Clara, the thing is I am your boss. This is no good, we would end in trouble, also I recommend, you should date men your age,” she shrugged the tone off and continued in her own voice. “Or would you say boys?”

His mouth was half open and he stared at her as if he was a rabbit and she was a cat, but instead of chasing him, she was lecturing the rabbit.

“Clara-” he didn’t come far.

“-Well, I have news for you, I have dated men my age. So, been there, done that. It didn’t work out well. The last one, failed to turn up three times for a date, because he had trouble using a damn calendar!” she huffed over the memory still angry over the guy. “ _Then_ I would probably sit up, and try to convince you, that I don’t care about your age, and yes, you are my boss, but do I really look like I would hold that fact against you? I already told you, I don’t want the permanent contract, so who will care?” suddenly she paused, but Randall was so into her little mind play, that he missed to answer, and so she rushed on, “Of course you wouldn’t believe me, you would come up with other weak arguments, like… like, I don’t know. That you don’t have time for this, and you are not interested in young women like me, or you are actually gay,” she thought about it in distress. “You are not gay, aren’t you?”

“I’m not…,” he reached for his underwear and shirt. “Clara, I really…”

“See,” she slumped back into her pillow. “You’re really sorry, yeah, I’ve heard that before. Why are you guys always sorry. Sorry, I have a girlfriend. Sorry, I was drunk. Sorry, but you’re not actually my type. I have heard it all!”

Randall, by now stood, looking down at her, and then felt, she wasn’t at the end with her argumentation, and waited, silently looking for his trousers.

“So, after this is talked, grab your things and go. I’ll never talk of it again. See you Monday,” she turned around, her face away from him. Finally she took a deep breath and with the oxygen now in her brain, she became slowly aware of what a fool she had made out of herself. At least, they could spare the long argument, and the saved minutes she could waste with sleep a bit longer or working on an article.

What else he would say? And what else she could say? Indeed, she didn’t want to have a relationship, she had no time for it. And he probably hadn’t too. He was the Head of News, working a lot and maybe he was gay, or simply not interested in a romance at all, as she never had seen him act like he was. Well, except half an hour ago, and two days ago. So, there was a chance she was wrong.

Maybe all the arguments she had, for not having a relationship, where as weak as his. It wasn’t about time, it was about fear. She was 29, and had a few attempts of a relationship behind her, and two of them had been pretty hard on her and on her heart. When she was honest with herself, and she wasn’t that very often, she was simply afraid to get her heart broken once more.

Randall was a good man, she had no doubt about it. He was smart, attractive, caring and god, so very good in bed. Attentive and when he kissed her it was like she would fall out of time. He was a bit of a loner, not the first she had ever met, but the first she had found serious interest in. Something was with him, and she was sure, that when she followed this path, they were on at the moment, she would fall for him. She would fall in love with him and this was nothing she could imagine would happen with him.

In a few weeks from now, he would realize, that she was only a young girl, restless, slightly greedy in want of a carrier. While she was at the beginning of the life path, he was maybe not at the end, but far away from her. In a few years, so she guessed, he would retire, buy a house by the coast and walk his dog along the shore, throwing sticks.

It was nothing she could imagine for herself, she wanted to stay in London for the next couple of years, do something, see something and learn a lot. If she could manage, she would go for a family and kids, also she wasn’t sure about it yet. Again she thought, Randall was beyond kids already.

‘ _God,’_ she thought angrily. ‘ _You really have invested some thought in this, haven’t you? Why not plan the wedding already?’_ Then she remembered that she had told him another version, the version of getting lost.

Only then she registered he hadn’t left yet, so she turned around swiftly facing him, as he stood there by the bed, wearing his trousers, but not his shirt, only the undershirt, and his braces hung lose by his sides. Quizzically she cocked an eyebrow at him, “What?”

“Did you ever thought about narrating kids stories for the telly?” he tugged one of the suspenders over his shoulder. “Because you really have talent for such little tales, like this one. I was very close to believe it, but no, I don’t and will not go. Not like this. I know it doesn’t look like, but I actually like to talk. And in this case, I would like to talk to you about this. So, here is my attempt on a little story; I’ll go and make breakfast, and then we’re going to speak with each other about what this is. Would that be suitable for you?”

This time it was Clara, whose mouth hang open slightly and Randall needed all his will not to smile stupidly at her, because he thought she looked cute, “Why?”

He let the other suspender go down on his shoulder with a slight snap, “Because I am hungry, and I can’t argue with an empty stomach. That’s why,” he sent her a smirk with a glint in his eyes, and before he turned around, he added, “No need to get up, I think I know where to find everything.”

“You are impossible!” she snapped, holding the blanket against her chest, as it was about to fall down.

“And you are quite bossy, when you are hungry, did anybody ever tell you?” with that he left before she could start another banter.

He heard her flop back into the sheets with some words under her breath, and he guessed, she would stay there a while, testing his will, and her own. Like a petulant child.

While he checked the fridge for eggs and the cupboard for bread, he smirked. Soon the fresh smell of breakfast would lure her out of bed.

Fifteen minutes later, he had made scrambled eggs, and had toasted the bread. Had decorated the table with butter, salt and pepper, and had filled two glasses with juice. When he was about to finish the coffee, he turned around to find Clara stand by the door, dressed in some jogging pants, his shirt on and wrapped in a blanket. His eyes strolled over his shirt, but he let it uncommented, instead he kept standing there, two mugs in hand, one of his eyebrows risen.

“Okay, this round goes to you,” she huffed with a gentle smirk, walking up to him and took one of the mugs from him.

“It’s not a competition,” he turned around reaching for the sugar, giving it to her.

“Sometimes it is,” she took it from him, her fingers brushing against his, and he gave it a smirk.

“You mean, it is always with you,” he took the sugar when she had finished and poured again way too much sugar into his coffee.

Clara still stood in front of him, looking up, as if she expected him to say something particular, but for the life of it, he couldn’t imagine what it was, “You are wearing my shirt.”

She giggled over it for a second, and jolted up on her tiptoes as if she would make a happy dance, and so he figured, that might was it, she had expected to hear from him, “Yes. You haven’t narrated it in your story — also yours was lacking quite the details, so-”

“-You took some liberties,” he walked over to the table, shoved one stool out for her and settled onto the other, reaching for his fork. “You should eat something, before it gets cold.”

Randall expected a backtalk. To his surprise she nodded and settled onto the chair aside from him and started to eat. Humming in appreciation after the first fork, she shoved two more into her mouth and bid hungrily from the bread till she had similarities with a hamster. Randall couldn’t hide his grin.

“Wuhat?”

“Nothing, it’s just a while…,” he trailed off and focused on his own meal, feeling a distant pain in his chest, he not wanted to let out.

Clara slowed her chewing, watching in amazement how his facial expression had shifted from amused to sad within only two seconds. She stared down her eggs, making a good guess, that he usually didn’t cook for others. Taking a gulp from her mug, to empty her mouth, she hid a smile behind the porcelain. It had also been a while, someone had cooked for her.

Not daring to interrupt the comforting silence between them, she watched him eat out of the corner of her eyes, believing he would speak up soon, as he had told her they would talk about _this_.

Her mind was rattling and racing and when Randall glanced up, she quickly looked away, feeling a blush in her cheeks, “Those are some very good scrambled eggs,” she then said.

“Yes?”

“Absolutely!” she enjoyed the spark of happiness in his eyes over her comment. “They are perfect. You can come by now, every Saturday, making me breakfast,” the words were out before she realized she had babbled something she might shouldn’t have. “I mean… you… damn it.”

Randall placed down his fork and turned with his chair toward her, “What is this, Clara? This between you and me?”

Clara’s fork came down too, in silence, and she shoved away the half empty plate. It was the inevitable question from the beginning. She looked at him, up and down. What was he? A flirt? An affair? A fling? A start? “I… What do you want it to be?”

“Is this my decision now?” he watched her hands fiddle with the hem of the blanket she was still wearing around her shoulders, and that was now mostly in her lap.

“Is that what journalists do?” she snapped, shoving a strand of hair behind her ear. “Answering questions, with other questions?”

Randall leaned into the backrest, exhaling loudly. Clara was unpredictable, and he not wanted to risk, that she would throw him out in the end because he pushed her too hard, “Earlier, I made myself clear. I didn’t say that, to make you… have se-sleep with me.”

She glanced up at him, with a sorry in her eyes, “I don’t see you like this, in case you thought. It was not my intention… What is this for you? Why did you went with me, on Thursday?”

“First of all, I went with you to the café because I needed to talk you out of quitting,” absently he started rubbing around a spot on the table. “And then I walked you home, because I wanted you to be safe. It was your first night after the incident, and when you invited me upstairs… believe me, it was my sincere plan to sleep on the couch - what I actually did,” he cocked an eyebrow at his own pun.

“Yeah, after you slept with me,” Clara threw in with a smirk, to show him, there was no anger.

“Clara, you know all my concerns about this - whatever it is. And you made very clear to me, that you not want to have a relationship, and I really don’t know what to think about what we did an hour ago.”

“You said, you would like to come back and do it again…,” she said quietly.

“You are confusing me, Clara,” he exhaled, searching for words, and fighting down the need to sweep her into his arms, so he could hold her. “You say you not want a relationship and also you want me to come back. Do … do you want an affair with me?”

She looked at him, somewhere between sad and angry. As much as she wanted to tell him what this was, and what she really wanted from him, she couldn’t. There was something that couldn’t be controlled when they would continue and she thought she couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t handle not to have control. And then she realized, that whatever had started wouldn’t end with one of them going to the door and making goodbyes. They were both so deep into this, that there was no way back. They believed it, but the truth was, it was too late to stop.

“Personally I always thought an affair, needs some spouse on your side or on mine, and I’m totally not married,” Clara suddenly looked at him in horror. “Don’t tell me you are secretly married!”

Randall chuckled, “No, I am not. Never was. Proposed once, got declined.”

“Oh,” Clara relaxed and was also feeling terrible over suggesting something like it, and now make him confess a unpleasant experience, “sorry to hear that.”

“No reason to be sorry, it was better that way,” he rubbed with a smile on the stain on the table, before taking his hand away. He knew how he looked, and he knew that he not wanted to look like it. “Look Clara, a few years ago, I would have run for the door, as fast as I could, because I didn’t know better,” he brought the backside of his hand against his mouth, and bit the flesh there for a second. Giving himself an impulse to go on. “But I am not the man I used to be in these times. I will not run, in case you hope that. I… I like you. More than…, you getting my drift.”

Clara saw hope in his eyes she hadn’t expect there, “I like you too.”

When a weight fell from his shoulders, he realized how important it had been to him, to hear it from her. It seemed he was not just a guy she had found sexual interest in. “So, that’s settled, and maybe a good point to start. We could… we could go on from there, without …,” he didn’t know how to phrase his thoughts, it was like someone had cut the connection between his brain and his mouth. He huffed unnerved.

“You mean, us having a relationship without having one,” Clara tried to help out. “No cumbersome relationship rituals like flowers or dates in a fancy restaurant. I don’t call you honey and you ask me how my day was, stuff like that.”

“Yes, stuff like that,” he pursed his lips. “Also I’m your boss, I know how your day was. Usually.”

“You are a cheeky sod, do you know that?” she said, and he answered her with taking his glasses off to clean them. “We can’t tell the others.”

Randall put his glasses back on, “Aside, that would actually be my line, I … yes, we can’t. It’s a policy of the BBC, no relationships, that’s why we couldn’t sign Freddie, aside he didn’t want to anyway. I hate to point it out, but when they catch us, one of us will be moved.”

“Are you sure, this is not called an affair?” Clara turned back to her scrambled eggs. They were cold now, but she was still hungry. “Because we obviously both married to the BBC.”

Randall hummed, and returned to his bread, unsure to what they had agreed now. Just when he was about to ask her if she would like to spend the day with him or wanted him to leave, she turned toward him. Clearly another alarming thought had conquered her mind, that he could tell by the size of her eyes. Inflating.

“Yes?”

"Just…,” her courage had been enough for one word. “Just don't expect me to fall in love with you, okay?" Clara said then quickly, head turned away, suddenly finding very interest in the pattern of the couch.

"Yes,... no! What?" Randall stuttered confused. "Why would I... I don't understand what do you mean by it, and I am actually very bad with making assumptions."

"I… I said that in case you think you can — I don't know— convince me. Into a relationship, a real one. I… my job, this job, it comes first. We are both busy at the office, and as we know it, it might work out for a while. And then we probably wake up one day, with the realization, that it is not working out — for whatever reason,” she spared herself and him, because of pure embarrassment, the dialogue about him buying a house by the sea, and walking a dog by the shore.

Her words made him mad, he couldn’t help it. With a clatter he laid down his fork and stood up, walking to the kitchen counter.

“Clara, I will not ask you for a fancy dinner after work. Like you said, we both work long and hard, it would be ridiculous. I’m not going to take your hand, and walk with you over the street, or carry flowers across town, like a besotted fool. No ‘ _Honey, I am home!’_ and no ‘ _Holiday planning’_.

“You said, you not want that, so we don’t do it. All I am saying is, I am not going out of this door, and wait till you crook your finger at me, to make me… shag you like you were an ordinary girl. Because you are not. I will not fall in love with you, but stop pushing me away, stop making me want to care about you. We have a work relationship and I care for you there and I will ever care for you in my private matter, as I care for the others.

“If you one day wake up and think you found your ideal man, you tell me and it’s fine for me. I’m not going to fight over you with a 29-year old,” he wanted to say pillock, but decided against it, “boy. I am, indeed, too old for such fuss.”

“Alright-”

“-And when I wake up one day, and think this … whatever it is, is over, than it is over.” _You are too proud to run after me anyway_ , he thought, and felt stupid of telling tales to himself like Clara did. “Aside, I can’t leave!” he exclaimed, slightly unnerved at the end of his monologue, and then added more softer, “Even if I want to.”

Clara turned toward him, a frown fleeting over her forehead, in a mix of many emotions, she tried to dissect what he meant by it. If there was something deeper, some admission, but she couldn’t give into that hope. Not now, so she thought it must be something else he meant by it. Something superficial. Her stomach clenched, a sign of disappointment. She would have rather went with the non-superficial idea, but her stubborn nature and the safety zone she lived in, made it impossible to settle on it.

Randall had no intention of throwing her into such turmoil, with those simple words. There was no intention behind it, and only after he had witnessed how her brow furrowed, it came to him, that his remark had sparked a thought process that stung her. He felt guilty, and stepped up to her, peering down and when she made a half hearted motion away from him, he reached for her forearms. She gave up her resistance immediately, also her body was tense - unsure what he was about to do.

“Ask me, why,” his fingers snug under the fabric into the crook of her arm.

“Why?” he could read, she not asked him because he told her so. Clara asked him why she should ask him ‘ _why’_ , and it made him smile over her bossy nature.

“No,” he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ask me, why I can’t leave.”

“W-why can’t you leave?”

His hands cupped her face, and trailed over her chin, to the collar of the white shirt she was wearing. A gentle tug, and his lips so close to hers, “Because you are wearing my shirt.”

“Owh!” she grabbed his suspenders, and let them snap against his chest. It made him cringe and chuckle. “You are-”

Quickly he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her in and silenced her with a kiss, till he felt the tenseness leave her body and she relaxed into his ministrations.

When his lips captured hers, Clara’s stopped thinking, it was like someone pressed a button and shut her brain down, leaving her only with one thought. That she was coming home in his arms. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual I would be delighted about a comment. Tell me what you think, I am curious! Thanks!


	12. 12_Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and Randall spending the weekend together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making good progress, so have another new chapter!  
> I realized I let them off into the weekend, and so I needed to tell you guys what they were doing. It's somehow a filler but then it's important, as the relationship is still so fresh. It starts a bit forced, but then I think develops into some character discovery. I try to put more light on Clara, as I explored Randall so much in "Collide" and his background as a journalist in the Croatian war hasn't changed.
> 
> Thanks for all your reads and comments! I love you so much for it, you can't imagine it!!!

"Do you still want me to leave?" Randall asked slightly breathless after releasing her from his kiss.

Clara blushed, "Not... necessarily. Of course, when you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you," she quickly added and damned the whole relationship ‘ _be or not be’_ decision already.

Randall was unsure what to answer. They hadn't done each other a favour with not deciding straight, but he didn't want to start another discussion so he tried to come up with an answer that implied he not wanted to leave but also wouldn't hang around too close. In the end Clara interrupted.

"What do you usually do on your weekends?"

He glanced at her. "Reading, running some errands, little household. Nothing spectacular to be honest. Rather boring," he explained unsure what she would do with the information.

"And … do you eat sometimes?"

He rose an eyebrow at her, "No, I’m a vampire and feet of blood,” he smirked when he saw her glare. “Of course, I eat."

"I mean," she snickered, "do you sometimes eat at a restaurant or dinner? We could have some lunch later at Henry's, it's a really nice dinner."

"Ah, I see,” Randall said slowly, not letting show if he was interested and Clara was about to suspect he not wanted to share the afternoon with her.

“In case you don’t want to, just say it, it’s okay,” she frowned down the floor, unable to meet his eyes. “We don’t have to hang around each other only because-”

Randall reached out and grabbed her hand, “Yes!” Clara quickly looked back at him, his warm hands not letting go of her. “Let’s don’t do this, this “ _questioning of all our doings”_. No, we don’t have to hang around each other because we decided to …,” his ears burned and he bit the inner of his lip for a moment to push himself forward, “to be together — some sort of. I think the only way this will work is, when we’ll be honest with each other. You don’t want to see me, tell me, and vice versa. Right now, I would like to have a late lunch with you.”

They both stared down to their linked hands, and let go of each other when they felt it got strange, then Clara laughed up in relieve, “Great! And yes, let us be honest. I think that’s a good plan.”

“Yes," Randall kneaded his hands for a moment while he glanced down at himself. "I could need a change of clothes. How about I go for now, and we meet in like three hours there?"

"Sure, I'll text you the address. Gives me also time to look over an article for next week," she smirked. "I really need to finish it, or my boss will probably kill me."

“I don't think he would,” Randall looked stern at her. “Let's say he would be very demand about it,” he sent her a shy smirk, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"So, I better don't disappoint him then, mh?" one of her hands trailed along one of his braces, slightly tucking at it. For a moment she got lost in the moment, in Randall’s greenish eyes and she knew she needed to step away from him if she not wanted to follow the prickling feeling in her body that told her to simply kiss him.

He knew exactly what she thought and battled with, as he was in the same dilemma. Wishing her hand would shove the braces down his shoulders. That she would trace her hand over his arm, pulling him in for a kiss. If she had, he wouldn’t had minded at all. Suddenly she let go of him and smirked apologetically.

"I don't think you ever could,” one hand reached for the rest of the stool, not trusting himself from following her to demand what his body was aching for. “There is one more thing."

"Yes?" she swirled around, a flicker of hope went through her eyes, and it made him almost guilty.

"I really need my shirt, Clara."

A mischievous smile escaped Clara, but she quickly decided not to undress in front of him, knowing, then none of them would ever leave the apartment, or work on the article, so she just flashed him a grin and returned to her bedroom where she changed into a loose jumper. For a second she thought about telling him to bring some spare clothes, but that was maybe too early, and so she let the matter drop in her head for the moment.

 _Let's see how the weekend goes_ , she thought and returned to the kitchen handing over his shirt. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” his fingers brushed over her hand when he took it from her, and Clara’s blushed over the innocent touch.

‘ _It’s not Pride and Prejudice, Clara!’_ she scolded herself and turned for a moment to the sink, rubbing some non existing crumbs away. While she heard the soft rustling of the shirt, while he dressed, she mused when relationships got so complicated.

Maybe they always had been, she couldn’t tell. She was no expert in being in a relationship and watching some of her friends whom partly been in long term relationships, told her, it didn’t matter for how long someone had a relationship or how many. It seemed one was always lost and confused about it.

When she heard Randall clear his throat she turned around again. Dressed again he looked rather rumpled. Only now she noticed the stubble, what she found rather attractive. It would bring him some looks from the women in the office, if he would show up like that, she thought. The wrinkly shirt, the tie loose and the top button undone. No, he should better not show up like this in the office, right now she not wanted to share. Was there a spark of jealousy in her? Clara didn’t notice she was staring at him, till he asked her what was the matter.

"Sorry," she felt her cheeks go red once more. She thought about something dismissively, and then remembered what he had said. About being honest. "I just thought I could get used to that. You all dishevelled,” her hand presented up and down of him.

"I bet you could," he knew what she meant. He knew it was always him and the suits, his armour, keeping people at distance.

He remembered some old relationships he had, long, long time ago. He had needed weeks to feel so at ease, that he walked around in just his undershirt, like he had done this morning with Clara he only had ‘ _met’_ a few days ago.

It had been different when he was younger, when he had been still naive and still had believed in people and their intentions. With age and time he had left naivety behind, putting on layer over layer, not letting anyone come close — not too fast.

There had been one, he had let in. He had loved her, had fallen so hard for her. In the end, it didn’t work out, and it took him a few years to realize that he might had taken off his armour at this time, but not completely. There had been still something around his heart, to protect it — knowing there would come disappointment. Like a guard, sleeping naked but not without a weapon to defend what was left.

It was the story of his life. Why was he never able to feel safe around the people he loved? Really, completely safe. Could it be Clara? Could it be anyone? Right now, he still guarded his heart. A heart that was aching for getting free one day, "I see you … later?"

"Yes," an awkward moment ensured in which they couldn't decide of kissing goodbye or not, and it ended with him kissing her cheek.

They both had words on there tongue of how ridiculous their behaviour was, but none of them spoke them up. They really had a long way to go.

#

Around three hours later Randall waited nervously by the dinner she had suggested. He had gone home, for taking a shower, shaving and changing clothes. When he finally had stood in front of his mirror by his wardrobe he wondered that he couldn’t remember showering, couldn’t remember shaving and changing clothes. He simply couldn’t. His mind had been busy, with the past days, with Clara, with the conversation they had about the status of their relationship. With the nights they had spent.

Her lips on his skin, sending shivers through his body, making him gasp and moan. Two of his fingers touching the skin by his wrist, where he still could feel her hands around it. When she had taken the control away for a moment, pressing his wrists into the soft bedsheets, while kneeling over him, straddling him, smiling down at him, while her hair beautifully fell over her face. She had taken away his breath in this moment, and when she came down to him to kiss him, he felt him surrender himself to her.

The bubble of remembrance burst, when some kids passed him with cheering laughter, and he glanced down his watch. It was ten minutes over the agreed time, and he began to worry.

As if Clara could sense his doubts, she rang his cellphone, “ _I am sorry, the damn bus was not on time. I am just-”_ the phone call ended and Randall looked unsure onto the display.

Two pairs of hands grabbed him by his arms, and made him jump, “-around the corner!”

“Clara!” he whirled around, holding one hand against his chest.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist when I saw you,” she beamed at him, letting her eyes travel over his face and appearance. The scruff was gone — she missed it actually, and he wasn’t wearing a suit. Instead some dark brown chinos and a black jumper, that had many holes in it. Probably some fancy designer piece. She couldn’t imagine that Randall was shopping at Peacocks.

She smiled over it, in pleasant surprise. It was nothing she had expected, him all casual, and not in the slightest he seemed to feel uncomfortable.

“So, your secret is now discovered,” she smirked. “I hope you know.”

“M-my secret?” she let him work his eyebrows for a few seconds. “I am not sure if I can follow.”

Clara reached out and tucked at the jumper, “That there are not only suits. Never saw you without one… well, I mean…,” she blushed.

So did Randall, “I am getting your drift. One should have clothes for all kind of occasions.”

Once again she let her eyes travel over him, and he felt almost shy under her glances, “I like it.”

He huffed then, quickly checking his glasses, and his hands accidental checked for the fit of the missing tie, “Actually, I thought it was my duty to compliment you on your nice dress, and now I am standing here like a schoolboy in front of you.”

“It’s okay,” she brushed a stray curl back into order by his temple. “As I was a schoolteacher once.” Taking her hand away again, she looked down at his hands, which hung there like he didn’t know what to do with them. Then she grabbed one, and pulled him with her, “Come on! I am starving.”

He smirked over her enthusiasm, spanning his long fingers around her tiny hand, and let her drag him into the inside. She didn’t let go of his hand till they found a table in the corner, “They have great lasagne here.”

Randall took the menu, but didn’t made the effort to read what was on it, just glanced over the card, watching Clara how she browsed with intense expression through the food offers.

For a second she glanced over her card too and found him looking, “What?”

“Nothing, just looking at you.”

She closed the card and placed it aside, “Why would you do that?”

“As I remember, you made your own observations already, and I think now it is my turn,” he placed his menu on top of hers. She smiled at him. They both ordered the lasagne afterwards.

“Did you get far already with your observations?” Clara then asked, when the waiter had brought them their drinks.

Randall chuckled, “I only started now. I am good, but not that good. Aside I am a journalist for too many years, so I prefer asking questions. When I may?”

“You may,” her fingers landed on the glass, holding it, holding herself somehow. She wasn’t sure what he would ask, surely trivia, but this was Randall Brown — one couldn’t know for sure. Then she remembered, they had slept together, more than once, so where was the trouble in a few questions?

Simple answer, she didn’t like opening up too soon, too fast, keeping her past to herself was her armour. A shield against getting hurt. Don’t tell people, they will use it against you.

“I always wondered, why you left your job as teacher, and wanted to become a journalist?” he placed his hands into his lap, looking at her, studying her reactions. He was good with it, not all the psychology books were for show off, they had some use to him. If he wanted, he could be very good in reading people. The problem was, he not often wanted.

Clara had expected the question somehow, not directly, but at some time, as she never had really told him why she had left her old job. They had asked in the job interview, and she had said some empty phrase, like that she wanted something new, and that she had been always interested in it. Not exactly a lie, also not the real truth.

Gladly Danny’s background was way more exciting, and for a moment Randall had found much interest in Danny’s story about being in Afghanistan for a few month. After that he hadn’t returned to Clara’s past, simply had went on.

Only now she realized, he never had forgotten, and had known all the time she had only used a cliché. Randall Brown wasn’t easily fooled. Not that Clara had ever thought she could do that to him, in the end it where just a question about reasons. She had proofed herself of being a good journalist so far, and why was there any reason in knowing the real motives.

Randall read her thoughts, “And don’t tell me again, you needed a change. Something new.” He smiled at her eye rolling.

“You wouldn’t believe me, or you would rethink your decision of hiring me,” she looked up, waiting till the waiter had brought them the lasagne. “For some reason I think, it would sound like utter nonsense in your ears.”

“I know, I don’t look like it, but I sometimes can enjoy utter nonsense,” he took a fork of food into his mouth, humming over the taste. “Glad I relied on you, it tastes fantastic.”

“It was a Wednesday, in the middle of the night, going on Thursday, and I had collected a couple of essays from my class before-”

“-Jane Austen.”

“What else there is?” she asked cheekily back. “Anyway, I read through them and fell asleep on the couch, only to wake up by … something.”

The spot between Randall’s eyes twitched, as the one between Clara’s eyes had, “Not just something.”

She hesitated, recalling the night again in her memories, “A sound, never heard it before, never heard it again. Probably a phone, a ring tone, like a machine gasping.”

For a couple of seconds he tried to came up how a machine would sound, when it was gasping, and he had obviously trouble. Clara could see it, and smiled, “Don’t worry, I tried to imagine too what kind of machine would make such sound, and came up with nothing.”

“A ring tone made you change jobs?”

“Not exactly. I woke up, staring out into the night from my balcony, wondering. Wondering what else there is,” she explained. “Do you know the feeling when you should be tired, but suddenly you are full of energy and ready to… to do something?”

“Something... again?” he asked with a half smile.

Clara placed her cutlery aside, leaning forward, her elbows on the table, whispering, “Like you want to conquer a planet or so.” Her flat hand came with verve onto the table, making the salt and pepper shaker clink together.

Randall stared at her for the longest time and she was sure he would tell her she was going crazy, when he started to purse his lips and his left eye squinted slightly, his eyes off for a moment, “I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” he looked back at her, slightly nodding. “Or like you want to run, chase through the streets as if you were a kid again. Running as if your life depends on it.”

“Exactly!” Clara burst out, a spark in her eyes and a youthful spirit in her smile. She now held the shakers to stop them from making noise.

They locked eyes, smiling at each other, then Randall blinked and took of his glasses, rubbing his eyes, leaning back into his chair. Regret and remorse filling him. How often had he felt this feeling, that was sometimes more like an itch, and all to often he was unable to scratch it. Unable to run, to chase through the streets, like some James Bond — making people look at him like he was a madman. For obvious standards he kept on walking, a tick faster as usual, feeling the spirit hunt him, whisper to him to run. He never did.

Clara read in him, saw the regret over the missed moments, and it made her feel her own remorse over the missed times this had happened to her, “Childish, isn’t it?”

Tilting his head a bit to the side, he laughed silently, and then settled the specs back onto his nose, “There's no point being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes.”

“Probably not,” Clara sighed. “We forget all to often about it.”

Randall nodded, “So that made you change jobs, because you … knew there was more out there. Doesn’t explain the choice for becoming a journalist.”

“To be honest, I wanted to be an astronaut,” she bit her lips with her teeth, sending him a grin. “NASA declined my application, so I went the other way.”

“The NASA’s loss is our win, then,” he grabbed for his glass and held it out to her.

After that the talking drifted into topics about work and trivia. Randall asked her for some books she could recommend — aside Jane Austen — and she took his teasing to lecture him about some wonderful European authors he never had heard of before.

Maybe he should start browsing the “more amusing books” in the stores instead of the others, he thought. An entertaining novel about some scatterbrained Inspector, his name he would forget the moment the book would end, would might do him good from time to time. He couldn’t tell.

Clara promised him to bring him a “great, wonderful, surprising book” she recently had finished, but that was in the hands of a friend right now.

They spent an hour at the dinner, before something drove them out to the streets again, where they walked side by side between the mingling people, unsure what to do next — only sure they not wanted to let the time together end.

They were in a haste, afraid to face a moment of silence, that would quickly turn into awkwardness and words, more stuttered as said in a flow. They had started this the wrong end. What usually began with dates, some Q&A over a nice dinner, and then after a long back and forth ending in bed, had started with exactly this.

Randall had an idea of where to touch Clara, so it would make her shiver, would make her come undone, but he had no clue what was her favourite colour, her goals for her life and what kind of hobbies she had aside work. He didn’t know anything about her parents, about her life before she had come to London, except she had been a teacher, and she didn’t know anything about him.

Didn’t know he sometimes fell asleep over an old black and white movie, or with a book on his chest. Didn’t know he liked the colour blue, liked theatre but couldn’t grasp the concept of musicals. She knew how to kiss him, she knew how to look at him to make his knees weak, and he didn’t know what to think about it.

Clara felt him ponder on something, not sure if he was dwelling on the same questions as she was. She almost stopped, grabbed him by the arm, and tell him she would like to go to a museum with him.

“ _What museum?”_ he would probably ask and she would answer, it wouldn’t matter as long as he was with her.

She didn’t stop him, and didn’t ask him, simply walked on, rattling on in her mind of what could be and how could be and why she was such a coward.

In the end they found each other in front of her door, and Randall couldn’t bring himself to ask, if she would allow him to stay, instead he found words that tried to make the point, but sounded like he was sixteen again, asking his puppy love to go to a school dance with him (not that he has ever done it), “What I try to say is-”

“-Tea? How about some tea?” she interrupted instead of jumping into his arms to kiss him, as the itch inside her told her to do. Randall agreed.

Sometimes love was like the feeling of running or the need in conquering a planet, sometimes people are unable to find out how to use the energy, how to make things go, workout. Sometimes love is not clear, but all to confusing — or maybe it’s just the people, who are all to confused to not understand the premise of it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have surely noted slight Doctor Who references and also once again slight hints what might suggest I let the Doctor show up. I can tell you this will not happen, but... it will be important later. ;)
> 
> Also, I am not sure, but the feeling I described.. I have it sometimes. Don't actually know if others have that too. And I had this feeling recently I used it for this chapter.


	13. 13_Facing the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend goes by and Randall and Clara have to face the daily routine after agreeing on staying together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly story development. Sorry it took me ages to update. I was sick for a week and lost therefore a week of writing as I am useless when having a thick cold. I go to Time Lash con this weekend, so not much writing probably, but with next week I'll be back in daily writing routine, pushing the story further.

After they had shared tea, like two teenagers who were observed by some adults, sitting at the table, holding close to their cups, sharing nervous glances and coy smiles, Clara broke the ban with standing up, to clean the mugs and some dishes from the morning.

Randall watched her from his chair, watched her arms and hands work, the muscles of her back move under her shirt and while he watched he knew what he had to do. In this moment, at this time.

She heard him move the chair, heard him walk up to her, behind her, towering over her. Watch her how she placed the last wet mug beside the sink. He didn’t wait till Clara had dried her hands with a towel, he reached for her hand and pulled her gently around, not giving her much space, reaching for the other hand too. His eyes desperate. Her hands were wet and slick and he found pleasure in bringing the water onto his hand, entangling his fingers with her.

Clara grabbed for his jumper, pulling him down, and Randall obeyed and shoved his hands under her shirt, searching for her warm skin, and when their lips captured each other he made her jump up, her legs around his waist, so he could carry her to the bedroom.

They didn’t talk much that night, as much as they couldn’t keep their hands of each other. Like a dam that had been opened, after they had agreed on moving on, extending their explorations, they couldn’t stop teasing each other.

On Monday morning Clara arrived early at the office. Randall had left her in the evening, not all voluntarily, but he had to go back to his apartment, changing clothes, looking over the new issue of the magazine he had bought, while buying them something to eat. He hadn’t been able to do it, as he and Clara were rather busy… exploring their new found relationship outside of work.

They both had relaxed over the weekend about the topic. Clara stopped seeing in every tea he made her, a soon coming proposal, and he understood, that not every touch she gave him while strolling around in the apartment meant she wanted to make things official.

They arranged themselves in the situation. It worked better without thinking about consequences and talking all the time about how cautious they should have to be, so no one of the others would find out. It wasn’t not all about the others. Bel, might would understand, and would be happy for Randall that he finally found someone, but quickly there would be gossip, and then it would reach higher floors in the BBC.

If they even wanted to have a chance, they needed to play with open cards first, and that was nothing they wanted. Not after a half week. The pressure and the looks would destroy what they had, and they both agreed in silence, that no one would understand what was between them. How, when they couldn’t understand it themselves.

Clara was one of the first in the office, and grabbed a few issues from the pile, that laid in front of the main door, so she could read it and give one to Danny and put some in the stand by their offices.

Flicking through the pages, she still felt morose about her article, that now belonged to Freddie. She liked him, he had talked with her after Bel and Randall had decided to take the article away from her, telling her, it would be always her article too, and as soon things would calm down, they would work together on it again.

Freddie was only a little older as her, and she envied him for his already great career, almost forgetting that he got beaten up already almost to dead. No one talked about it, but of course she knew — everybody knew. It had been in the news when it had happened.

Pushing the feeling aside, she sat down in her office and read Danny’s article instead and some she had assisted with. Again, it was a real good issue, she thought, when Danny came into the office they shared an hour later.

“Good morning,” he sipped from a paper mug. “You are up early.”

“Morning, yes, couldn’t sleep, so I got up early,” she smiled. “Checking out the new issue.” She pointed onto his desk, telling him she had brought him already one too.

“Thanks!” he settled down and flicked to the page of his article. Clara saw a smile light up on his face. A natural reaction.

“You did a great job.”

“You think so?” Danny looked at her, blushing slightly. “It turned out really nice. So, how was your weekend?”

Clara gulped, “My weekend?”

“Yes, did you do anything?” Danny browsed absently through the pages.

“Uhm,” Clara realized, she hadn’t thought about what to tell in case someone would ask. “Nothing particular. Stayed home mostly. Reading. A movie. Rather boring.” She tried to make a dismissal face, about to ask him about his weekend, when

“What was rather boring?” Randall stood in the door, holding a bag in hand, the magazine in the other. His office was at the end of the floor, and he needed to pass Clara’s and Danny’s and had obviously overheard a bit of their conversation.

“Good morning,” he said, sending a brief smile first to Danny then to Clara, after she only stared at him.

“My weekend,” she blurt then, noting she hadn’t answered. “Danny had asked how my weekend was, and-”

“-It was rather boring,” Randall ended it for her, not letting any emotion show on his face and Clara damn him for it.

Perceiving he would take it personal, she quickly added, “Sort of. Reading. Telly. It’s not what I would call exciting.” She was on a track of saying stupid things, and when she saw Danny was not looking, she send a look over to Randall, hoping he would understand.

One side of his mouth curled up into a short smile, “We can’t all be film stars, can we? Someone has to live the boring parts.”

At least three people seemed to ask what that supposed to mean, and he waved with the magazine, “Forget what I said. Anyhow, I hope aside of having a boring weekend, I hope you both found some rest. After that busy Friday.”

“What you’re all doing here?” it was Bel, showing up behind Randall. “Early conspiracy?” she winked, and stepped inside the room.

Danny chuckled, “Not really. Clara just reported about her boring weekend, and I was going to say, I was at the birthday party of my godchild and I give you the best advice in life. Never play taboo with nine-year old.”

“Why?” Bel frowned.

“Because they are merciless,” he shuddered, obviously having the time of his life at the weekend.

Clara smiled down into her coffee, her eyes connected with Randall, who hadn’t retreated to his office yet. “How was your weekend?”

Randall jolted slightly over the question, sending a cocked eyebrow over, “Utterly b-boring. Reading. Telly. Also I can’t complain.”

Bel saw the exchange of looks between the two, and made a grunting sound, “You two should really start dating.”

“What?” Randall and Clara both raised their heads toward Bel, with wide open eyes, and only now Bel was aware what she had said. Also she couldn’t detect any harm in her words.

“You two should start dating someone,” she explained annoyed. “You need a boyfriend and you need … is girlfriend still an appropriated word for someone over fifty?” Bel winked at Danny and they both shared a mischievous smirk.

Bel made no secret out of it, that she thought Randall could need the company of a woman and, she had referred more than once that she thought Clara could need a boyfriend, or girlfriend, whatever she liked.

Randall huffed, if anyone else would have said that, he would have been angry over the comment. Bel had earned the right to mock him from time to time, in their times together back at The Hour, “Are we done with the morning pleasantries? Conference in an hour, we have work to do,” he held up the issue he had went through at home. Sticky notes looking out of the pages at all corners.

He smirked over the groan they all gave him, when he left.

“Dan, Soldier Man, did you see your article?” Bel placed a hand on his shoulder, bowing over him, to flip open the magazine. “I’m proud of you!”

“Thanks,” he smiled flustered, looking over to Clara, who was also flustered, but more because of the lack of proudness in her case.

Bel registered, “Oh, don’t look like that, I am proud of you too. Don’t pull such a face. Next time, you have the big article.”

“Thanks.”

“Before that, my office in ten okay? We need to talk.”

“Your office in ten,” Clara made a mocking salute, and Bel left them alone again.

“Tell me you're not going to quit,” Danny said after a few minutes of silence. Clara could hear his sincere worry. “I mean, … you can’t possibly give up this. We are all a great team. Bel is nice. And even Randall has his good days-”

“-I’m not going to quit, okay,” Clara interrupted firm, feeling utterly ridiculous over his try to make her stay. Danny was a good pal, knowing very well, that his chance for a long term contract would be more concrete when she would leave. “I had a wobble. I am back on track now.”

“Good,” he smiled and Clara stood up, grabbing her notebook, leaning down, to give him a kiss on the cheek before leaving toward Bel’s office.

##

“Okay, Clara, let’s not make a big fuss about it,” Bel motioned her to sit down. “Just tell me; you still want to quit or are you staying?”

Bel’s straightforwardness got Clara by surprise, she had expected some small talk on the other side it was appreciated, “Uhm, yes.”

Bel smiled at her, “I not want to sound like Randall, but when it’s an either-or questions, a yes is not enough.”

They both chuckled over it.

“I am staying, I just was...what happened…,” a flashback of the attacker holding a knife to her throat made her shiver.

“I know, it’s okay. You have all the good reasons to feel what you feel. It’s happening not every day and be sure, I am very endeavoured to look out for you and Danny and all the others. So is Randall, we not want a repeat of what has happened to…,” she broke off, the image of an beaten up Freddie still too fresh.

“I know, I know you guys look out for us.”

“Did… did Randall talked to you? Because I asked him to do it,” she shrugged over Clara’s look. “He is a great journalist, has a good nose for it, but sometimes he is missing some empathy.”

“We talked. He did good.”

“Great.”

“Have you heard anything more about the bomb threat or the article Freddie is now doing? Has he found out more?”

“The police couldn’t tell anything about the caller for the bomb threat, it was an public telephone somewhere in the city, they want to check the surveillance but I assume nothing will come of it. And Freddie,” Bell huffed, knowing her husband all too well. “It’s only a few days, and he usually not talks about his investigations as long as he is not sure about it. To keep me safe, he says, and you guys. But I am sure, he will come around with news soon.”

“Okay.”

“I know you still pissed we took the article away, but please understand we did it to protect you. It’s not because we think you are incapable. You did good work since you are here. I might shouldn’t tell you, but I think Randall considers you for a permanent contract already.”

“Oh, is he? Nice to know,” was all Clara could say before the telephone rang.

“I have to get this, I see you in a few minutes okay?” Bel grabbed for the receiver, pressing it then to her chest. “And, I am really glad you are staying.”

“Me too,” Clara smiled back to her and left Bel to the telephone.

##

Stepping out of the office, she checked the watch, there was still fifteen minutes till the conference, and instead turning to her office, she found herself stepping toward Randall’s.

The door was open, as usual, and she looked out for the bag she had seen earlier, finding it behind his sofa, smiling over it. She was so fixed on the bag, that she didn’t register that Randall wasn’t in his office, and came up behind her, “You okay?”

Clara jumped, silently squealing, “God, you startled me! Don’t do that!”

He smiled gently at her, touching her elbow for a second, shoving her into the office, “I apologize. Can I help you with anything?” he walked to his desk, gathering the things he needed for the conference.

“No,... I,” she turned around, reaching for the door to shut to. “I only wanted to tell you, that I just talked with Bel. About-,” she made a hand sign. “You know. Quitting.”

His body tensed, afraid she had decided against his actual believe she would stay. They hadn’t really talked about facts, he simply had assumed he had convinced her to stay. “A-and?”

Clara saw her mistake, “Oh, no, I am not! Not making the wrong decision. I’ll stay.”

Relaxing again, he smiled at her, feeling foolish for his obvious emotions about it. He shouldn’t act like this, but he couldn’t otherwise. “Good.”

“Good?” she enquired, not certain if she should be disappointed or be more aware of Randall’s actual reflectance. Having him somehow unleashed in bed, didn’t mean he was now a different man in the office. The walls were thick. “Good. You packed a bag?”

The both looked toward it, “Yes. You said it is okay.”

_On Sunday she had noticed how he had tucked at his jumper and shirt all the time, shifting slightly uncomfortable around. Then she had realized, that he was used to change clothes daily and as he was not able to do it, he felt on the edge with it._

“ _If you like,” she began over making some coffee, trying to be casual, “you can bring some spare clothes. If it makes you feel better.”_

_He had looked at her surprised over the offer, also delighted and relieved, as he was really in need for fresh clothes. He hated wearing the same shirt two days in a row, and never came to work with the same suit two days in a row._

“ _Would that be okay?” he asked cautious._

_Clara knew what he meant. Bringing clothes was almost a statement — making them a couple. “You can’t go in with the same suit all the time, and let’s be honest, it seems you’ll spend some time here … from time to time?”_

“ _Good point, yes,” he smiled and took the coffee mug from her hands. “I not want to invade your space, you know that. I can keep them in the office.”_

“ _No, no, it’s fine,” she watches his fingers around the porcelain. “Just don’t expect a free drawer, as you can see, my apartment lacks the space and I have too many stuff.”_

“ _I never would,” he smirked. “A bag will do.”_

“It is, of course,” she quickly nodded, kneading her fingers.

Randall saw how nervous she was and how nervous he acted and how foolish they both acted. He stepped around the desk, toward her, and pressed the door close with one hand, catching her surprised eyes. She was utterly beautiful to him. Leaning down to her, he kissed her. A soft, gentle kiss, not touching her with his hands. A simple reassuring kiss for her, and for himself, that everything would be fine.

Clara’s eyes fell shut, when his warm lips touched hers, and the racing blood in her body sent a warm shiver through her. She needed to grab the handle of the door, when her knees went weak. After all, he seemed to have lost some of his reservation, she thought, giving his kiss a hum.

When he parted from her again, she still had her eyes closed, and looked utterly lost. It made him almost kiss her again.

“I am sorry,” he instead uttered, catching his breath, and shoving one hand through his hair.

“Don’t be,” she found her breathe again, eyeing him as he was still so close to her.

“We … I shouldn’t do that, not in the office I mean,” he gave her reluctant smile, and then stepped away from her, opening the door again. “It’s time. Conference. It would look odd if we both come in late.”

“Of course,” her heart was still beating fast in her chest, and she clutched her notebook against her chest. Both their eyes lingering on each other for a few more seconds, and when a door shut loudly somewhere they jumped and left his office toward the conference room.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reads, and all the lovely comments, never stop giving them!


	14. 14_The Seminar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara has to leave the magazine to attend a seminar. Away from Randall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More character development. Between Clara and Randall and also Randall and Bel.

The conference was as usually, when the new issue had came out, about the flaws of it, also about what was good and would could be better. Randall usually worked through it and pointed out things he didn’t like or what he liked most. It was about exchanging ideas for new things, what could make the magazine keep going, about what reader wrote in letters and emails to them.

This time it was also about the past few days, and the investigations the police did about the bomb threat. Bel told them all the same, as she had told Clara. Both Randall and Bel told their crew — as it was their duty — to keep going, not to worry and that they would do everything to find out more.

After it they sent everyone on their way.

“Oh, Clara, wait, before I forget,” Bel stopped Clara with some papers in hand. “That was the phone call I got. I finally got the go for the seminar in Brighton. They said one participant got sick, so we got the free space.”

Clara looked puzzled at Bel, then at Randall, who looked like he just remembered something important he had forgotten about, “Brighton? Seminar?” 

Bel frowned, then turned to Randall, “Didn’t you tell her?”

Randall gaped, “I… forgot. I am sorry.”

“You forgot?” Bel couldn’t believe what he just told her. “Randall Brown never forgets anything! It’s not a big thing, but you were the one reminding me about my little niece’s birthday. A person you never met.”

“Do you have a point?” he asked annoyed, taking off his glasses so he could clean them.

“I think you know my point.”

Clara didn’t know what to say, and let them both quarrel for a bit. Randall gave her a glance, hovering with his hands in the air, “The last few days were busy. I simply forgot, also… I am not sure, if it’s a good idea to send Clara away now.”

“I actually think it’s a good idea of sending her away,” Bel pushed her hands into her sides, upset over Randall’s reaction. “Aside sending her away, sounds like we ban her to St. Helena or something.”

“Guys, I can hear you!” Clara interrupted and they both looked guiltily at her. “What’s the deal?”

“Here,” Bel gave Clara the papers, under a disgruntled look of Randall. “You have to be there in the evening, you sleep in a hotel, everything is taken care of. They start tomorrow and it goes till Friday. So we’ll see you back on Monday.”

“Friday?” she had silently hoped it was only a day or two, and she could see that Randall had hoped the same.

Randall wanted to suggest that Danny should go instead, but he had no real reasons to keep Clara around, aside his own selfish motivations. Let alone Bel would lecture him, that Danny had been there already — he could remember it faintly in the back of his mind — and tell him the seminar cost a pretty penny and the accommodations were rare.

“W-what about my started articles?” Clara reached for the last straw of hope.

To make matters worse, Bel gave Randall a look, that told him, to tell her. It was his job in the end to take care of the internships. He sighed, “We put them on hold or Danny will take over.”

“Oh, great,” it slipped Clara. Not that they took away her big article, now they took away the small ones too. She rose a hand to excuse herself for the slip. “I need to pack some stuff and get a train. I assume I can go then?”

“Yes, sure,” Bel nodded. “Sorry for the short notice, but I promise it’s a great seminar. You’ll have fun!”

“Hope so,” Clara shrugged, and turned around. “See you in a week then.”

Bel watched Clara go, not seeing that Randall was desperate to follow her, and when he thought it was a good moment, he placed the papers aside and went about to catch up with her. Bel stopped him, “Do I have to worry?”

“Worry?” he whirled around. “About what?”

“You forgetting things. You turning up with a scruff and undone hair,” Bel outlined his odd behaviour. “Everything okay?”

“Bel,” Randall walked back to her. “There is no big deal in forgetting something, or showing up unshaved. Stop putting me on a pedestal as if I am some kind of shining knight.”

“There is no reason of getting grumpy, it’s just odd, and I am not putting you on a pedestal,” Bel tried to calm the waves. It wasn’t really Randall to her, something must have happened, and she couldn’t know what. The Randall Brown she knew never said things like this.

Randall read in her, fearing she would see through him. “It got to me, okay? This with Clara, it was such a dirty thing to do. What happened to Freddie... I will not allow this to happen to any of them here. That’s it, okay?”

She nodded, “Yes, I am sorry. You’re right. It was not my intention-”

“-I know, it’s okay,” he reached out to her, to touch her shoulder, but his hand stopped an inch over the fabric of her dress, and when she looked at him quizzically, he smiled, and let his hand drop down, gently squeezing her. “We are a good team, we stick together, we not let them touch us. I was just worried, and would feel better if Clara would be around. But you are right, the seminar is important and maybe it’s better for her to take some days off from us.”

When Bel didn’t say anything, he took his hand awkwardly away and smiled the shortest of smiles, before turning around in hope he could still reach Clara before she left.

“Who are you?” Bel reached out one last time. “And what did you do to Randall Brown?”

He smirked at her, not answering. It was a good question, though.

#

“Clara!” he caught up with her, when she was about to leave the main entrance, stepping outside into the wind. “Wait a minute!”

Clara was unsure what to think, she was disappointed of been sent away, of not returning before Friday, of not seeing Randall for five days. Angry that he didn’t tell her, he didn’t prevent her from going.

Hadn’t she not envied Danny, when he had went? Envying him even more after he had returned, telling her how great the seminar had been? And now? Now she gave a damn about the seminar, because she would be separated from Randall, from the possibility to explore the new thing they had. Also she knew there was little he had could do.

“I’m sorry I forgot, I should have told you about the plan last week, but then…,” he shivered as he wasn’t wearing a coat. “You know what happened.”

“Yes, I know, it’s okay,” she shrugged and wanted to go on.

Randall followed, “It doesn’t look like it, you are mad at me.”

“I’m mad at myself,” she stopped again, but didn’t elaborate further for him. She was mad she missed him already, mad she seemed not to be able to deal without him for a few days, mad he mad her hate the seminar she had been looking forward for so long. “Whatever, okay? It’s just a couple of days, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he nodded, rubbing his arms. “Couple of days.”

She wanted to hear something from him, and he anticipated it, but then he was not able to say it, and was afraid to haunt her away with it. She who had come up with the rules of “no love” and “no drawer”.

“I see you then, I guess?” she brought her coat tight around her chest, screaming at him internally.

“Yes, I… see you then. Have fun,” and when she turned around with an expression of incomprehension, he hated himself for being such an idiot. “Damn!” And there it was again, the feeling of running down the street, but his phone rang, and so he ignored it and went back into the building.

#

It was getting colder these days, but Clara didn’t notice, she was so caught up in her disappointment and anger about Randall and herself, that she not even remembered how she got home.

“See you then!” she spat, while storming up the stairs to her apartment to gather her stuff she needed for a week, and to check for a train that would bring her to Brighton. “Why did I say that? Why did he say it? God, why did we say anything?”

She slumped onto the couch for a minute to sort her thoughts. While she stared out of the window, her hand trailed over the fabric of the sofa, remembering Randall had slept on. When she glanced over to the kitchen table, she smiled fond over the memory of him, sweeping her into his arms, and kissing her senseless.

In an instinct she pulled her phone out, about to call him, but when she had his number on the screen, her thumb only hovered over the name without pressing it for a dial.

What was there to say? That she would miss him? She couldn’t say that, not after she had came up with the rules of “ _no, we don’t have a relationship”_ of “ _we sleep together, share breakfast and kisses, and what do you mean that is a relationship?”_.

Unnerved with herself she throw the phone into the corner of the sofa. It would make no sense to call him now. She would only do it in hope he would says something meaningful, and that he wouldn’t do and she wanted to spare herself the awkwardness. Maybe a days apart would do her good.

Nodding to herself, she then was certain, that she was just to involved in the new developments. The last few days had been busy, and it was probably only the positive stress that made her crave certain things. When she had survived a day or two away from London and Randall she was sure, everything was back to normal. Her head. Her heart. All under control.

“I got this, I got this,” she whispered and started to pack a bag.

#

Randall sat in his office, looking down to the phone, glaring at it, as if he could enforce his will on it. And when it suddenly rang, he jumped and reached fast for the receiver, “Brown!”

In the end it was not Clara, only the main desk in the lobby telling about some packages that had been delivered.

Why had he said such stupid thing, he mused, realizing that it was not what he wanted to say. Instead of telling her he would like to call her, that he had hoped he could spend the evening with her, they had got lost in a misunderstanding. Again. In the try of playing it indifferent, so they needn’t to admit how much they already cared for each other. Or was that only an assumption of him?

Was he projecting his own feelings onto Clara, hoping she would think the same, when it was that she really didn’t care?

The thoughts nagged him so much, that he wiped some papers from the desk, watching them scatter all over the floor. He had to get down from this high again, get away from the believe Clara had only said all those things of rules and no relationship because she was afraid of something, he only had agreed on because he was afraid himself. He had to face the fact, that Clara was a young, free, open minded woman, that surely had fond thoughts about him, but would soon realize that she wanted a family and a man that was not filled up with insecurities and compulsions.

Maybe a few days without her would show him, that his feelings were just muddled up, and actually not that serious. He went back to work, not without giving the phone a sad look once more.

“Get a grip, old man,” he hissed. “Get a grip!”

#

Two days passed and Randall had managed. Not very good, but he had managed. He hadn’t planned with the fact, that many people around him talked about Clara or her articles, and as he was her supervisor he had to take care of the duty rota for the next weeks. Shoving her name from a to b was pure torture to him, making him ask, how she was doing and if she was thinking about him.

Even she was not there, she was all too present for him. It gave him a headache. Made him ask, if she had called anyone in the office, and if only to tell she arrived safely. Made him look on his phone, but he had no messages, at least not from Clara, and it made clear to him, that he really missed her.

“You are an idiot, for not calling her immediately,” he muttered. Knowing he had been afraid, she would call him idiotic and absurd for calling and for telling her he would miss her.

When the thoughts made him restless pace around in his office, he almost ripped the door open and tried to find Bel or Danny, to find out if she might had called them. She was good friends with Danny, so he figured she might had called or had texted him about her whereabouts.

When he stood by the office, and Danny looked at him expectantly Randall was about to ask, and then lost his courage and only asked if everything was okay, and then left again, leaving a puzzled Danny behind.

An hour later he found Bel in the conference room, and he thought it was safe to ask her, while he was refilling his coffee, “So, did you hear anything about Clara?”

“Clara?”

“Yes? Did she arrive well in Brighton? How the seminar is, such thing?” he busied himself with the sugar so he had not to look in Bel’s eyes. “Isn’t it etiquette anymore to call, and tell your boss that everything is okay?”

Bel smirked over her own coffee, “God, Randall, that’s no more the 50s. Honourable thought, but you know how the kids are today.”

“No, obviously not, how are they Bel?” he huffed.

“I am sure she is fine, having fun,” she scribbled down some notes, before talking on and Randall waited impatiently for her. “All young people there, I am sure they are out and about every night. I can remember they have some nice bars and clubs there.”

Well, that were news Randall not really wanted to hear, and before Bel told him anything more detailed, he gave a painful smile, “Well, then.”

“She is fine, Randall. Clara is fine. Stop being overprotective. I know you care about her like a father-”

Randall sipping from his coffee, almost swallowed up over Bel’s words, “Sorry, do go on.” He had to give everything, to not blurt out that he definitely had no parental affection for her. All the contrary.

Bel looked with a big question mark over her head at him, and only went on when he made a gesture with his hand, repeating his last words. “What I wanted to say; she got this. You have to get this attack out of your head. It makes you... faulty.”

“Faulty? Sorry, I am carrying,” Randall couldn’t believe what she just had said and returned to her. “Only because I am usually the more reserved one, I am not allowed to care? How can you say I have to get it out of my head? They threatened her, and the magazine, us! If you think, this is nothing, Bel, you are wrong. It’s more! Whatever this is, the trouble is still ahead of us. So stop-”

“-I am sorry!” Bel had made a mistake, seeing the hurt in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said it, I know you are right, I just… you appear different these days, and of course you shall care, but … you are the rock in the wild sea. That’s what you’ve been always to me. When Freddie almost died, it was you who kept the line, who had everything under control. I could rely on you, and I know I was an ungrateful person in this time, but if you hadn’t been around, then I probably would have gone insane over it.”

Overwhelmed over her words he stared at her in disbelieve. He remembered that she had spent a lot of time in the hospital after Freddie had been attacked. There had been two weeks, where the doctors couldn’t be sure if he would survive or not. He indeed had kept the line at the Hour, had kept them all under control, had looked that no one lost their nerve. Had visited Bel and Freddie in the hospital daily, telling her to eat and to sleep, sitting at the side of his bed, because Bel not wanted that he was alone.

“You never told me that…,” he reached out for her shoulders, making her face him. Her eyes were watery, and shook her head a bit to get herself under control. The least she wanted was starting to cry in front of him.

“I was so busy worrying about Freddie, that…, I should have been more grateful toward you,” she reached for Randall’s hand, wondering how soft his hands were, before nodding and stepping away from him. She was not used to such closeness from him, and afraid she would shatter in front of him. “There are many words, that are unsaid since that time. I didn’t even tell Freddie everything about it. But it was you, keeping me sane. Your stoic calmness. And now it seems you getting all different and we are in a crisis.”

Randall smiled fond at her, happy she had let out some of the down-pressed thoughts and feelings, “I am still here, but you can’t expect me always to be the … calm one. I am not the one who knows everything, I have feelings too, and right now … something happened, and I think I am changing. I can’t tell you much now, but allow me to be faulty. Work with me, and together we keep this magazine and all the people who work for it save. Can we do that?”

Bel sniffed and took out a handkerchief to catch some tears with it, “You are a good friend and a great journalist, did I ever tell you that?”

“Not with words,” he leaned against the table aside her, leaning gently against her shoulder. “You showed me otherwise.”

For a moment or two they shared the silence of the room, and the comfort of each other.

“If someone sees us like this, it will affect the team moral,” Bel started to chuckle, shoving the tissue into a pocket. “Thanks.” Quickly she pressed a kiss onto his cheek, and then left.

His hand touched the spot where Bel had kissed him and smiled over it, liking the feeling of closeness. Indeed he had changed, and maybe it was time to tell Clara, she was the reason for it.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit I am unsure about this story. I don't know where it will end up. I feel I "hang around" too long with Clara and Randall and not with the thing about the bomb threat (I will come back to this) I have the feeling we are not moving forward, also to put my worries into perspective. Their relationship started actually only 5 days ago, and I wanted to make something like "two weeks later" but I couldn't because I had written things so, that I wasn't able to make a time jump. But this will happen in near future and then we will return back to the trouble about the bomb threat and everything, and then this will of course affect Clara's and Randall's fresh relationship.
> 
> Thanks for hanging around in this fic.


	15. 15_The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall calls Clara, but things don't go the way they were planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to post all chapters I have in store today and tomorrow, (not many) so I will finally concentrate on pushing this story further, and I hope with raising the pressure on me, this will happen. I am totally disappointed about this story at the moment and I almost decided to just stop but then I thought that's not me and I try to go on. Even I am not convinced at the moment. Maybe I will find confidence again in a few chapters. 
> 
> Sorry for the whining, enjoy the story!

When he returned home, and had made himself some dinner, he settled down onto the couch with a cup of tea in front of him, and his phone.

After Bel had left him, he was in a high and ready to call Clara. Then he remembered, that she was certainly in the middle of the seminar, so he postponed his idea to the evening.

However, the thing he couldn’t postpone was his courage and his high spirit, both had went missing over the day, and now he sat nervously in front of the technical device.

‘ _It’s just a phone call! With Clara. You are not about to call the Queen!’_

He took a deep breath, and grabbed the phone, standing up at the same time, and while the phone dialled the number he paced up and down in front of his window waiting for the ringing. When it didn’t ring, he looked at his phone unsure if everything was okay, but then he heard the tone and listened intently, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. His lips went dry and he wanted to reach for his tea, and let go of it again, as he was afraid she would answer in the exact moment he had something in his mouth. God, he was so ridiculous.

“Hello?” it then echoed through the line.

Randall stopped in his track, listening, there was noise in the background and he guessed she was in a bar. “Hello?”

“Randall?” Clara talked loud into the phone to overrule the back noise.

“Where are you? I almost can’t hear you.”

“We are in a bar with live music, wait a minute…,” then he heard a rustling noise and a few scraps of conversation, of he thought afterwards, he wished he hadn’t heard. A voice that was unknown to him asked her who was on the phone and he could hear Clara answer; “It’s just my boss. I am back in a minute.”

When Randall heard that, the hand with the phone in it slowly sank down. He hung up. So, that were the facts.

After a minute his phone rang. Clara. He hesitated, but answered in the end.

“The connection broke. I went outside, it was pretty loud inside, sorry,” she explained and waited for an answer, that not came. “Randall? Are you there?”

“Yes, I am here,” he tried to pull himself together. “You didn’t get in contact, so I thought I… I asked how the seminar is going.”

When she waited a second too long for an answer, he knew he had said the wrong words once again, “Good. The seminar is great. Nice people here.”

“Ah,” why couldn’t he tell her, that he was missing her?

“Listen, it’s cold and it was a long day. I call you back tomorrow, yes? The others wait for me.”

“Sure, have fun,” Randall ended the conversation. Pressing the off button on his phone, he sat down on his sofa, sipping his tea. Half a life ago, he would have taken the moment as perfect occasion to drink himself into oblivion. Instead he closed his eyes and listened to the numb feeling that spread through his body. It was clear to him, she wouldn’t call the next day.

Clara leaned against the wall outside the bar, breathing in the cold air, her body beginning to shiver as she wasn’t wearing a jacket. For a moment, when she had been with him at the weekend, she had thought he was different, that it meant something to him. And when he was surprised that she needed to go to the seminar, she thought she had seen something in Randall’s eyes. As if he not wanted to let her go.

Then, before she had left toward home, he hadn’t said anything into that direction. She not even had expected a “I will miss you”, but at least some awkward try in expressing that he would. Also she knew, she hadn’t expressed anything of that kind either, but she couldn’t allow herself to give in so easily. She simply couldn’t open up so fast, letting him see, letting him break her heart.

Sighing, she shoved the phone back into her pocket and returned to the inside. Her mind not letting go of Randall for the rest of the evening.

The rest of the week went by in a niggling slowness for both of them. Clara hadn’t called the next day and Randall didn’t call either — unable to find the courage for another disastrous call. He was sure, she probably had found interest in one of her fellow students or some other twenty-something she had met in the bar the day before.

Randall’s head tried to tell him, that Clara wasn’t like that and he should stay reasonable, and just wait for her return, instead of coming up with rubbish and pure fictional ideas. The problem was, that the rest of his body told him otherwise, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn’t been able to call her again, and he hated he hadn’t found the right words before she had left.

When it was Friday after lunch, he was done with the thoughts and threw one of his pens away from him. He couldn’t take it any longer. Not knowing what Clara was thinking, and he couldn’t wait one more minute for it. Pulling out his phone he quickly dialled her number filling his head with short phrases of simply doing it, before doubt would stop him.

Instead of a ringing sound he only heard a voice, telling him, that the caller was not available at present.

“Jesus Christ!” he blew out, his body buzzing over the anticipation.

Thinking of what to do, he leaned forward and checked in the computer when the seminar was supposed to end at this day. Four o’clock.

He could make it till Brighton till four, catching her before she would get on the train. For a talk or even a rejection. It didn’t matter, the only thing that was clear to him was, that he couldn’t sit around all day, hoping she would show up, let alone wait till Monday. And then he grabbed for his jacket, and his keys, ready to leave the office. Bel could take over without a problem. He would tell her something about some sort of emergency. She wouldn’t believe him, but it didn’t matter.

His jacket on, he paced to the door and ripped it open to find a startled Clara Oswald in front of it. She also was wearing her jacket.

“Clara?” he almost dropped his keys.

“Hey,” her eyes looked up his jacket and the keys in his hand. “Do I come in a bad moment? You seem you are just about to leave.”

Randall nodded, “Yes, … I was. On the way. To you. To be honest.”

“Oh,” she exhaled surprised. He noted she was catching her breath, and didn’t know she had taken the stairs because the damn elevator was not coming down for an eternity. “Be glad you didn’t, there was an accident, on the A23, the bus I took, stood there for a while.” She smiled cautious.

He still was staring at her in disbelieve, unsure if she was really standing there, one hand on the door. When he saw some people walk over the floor in the background, he finally stepped aside and let her come in.

Clara hadn’t any plan, except when they had told them, that they could leave earlier, that she wanted to come here. See Randall, talk with him, ask him, what was going on with them now. Unsure of how to start, she slowly entered and glanced around in the office, it looked all the same, except on of his pencils laid by one of the bookshelves.

Randall watched her nervously, and tried to sort his thoughts, to find words, he actually wanted to find while driving to Brighton. Then Clara turned around to him and the both started talking at the same time;

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you wanted to come to Brighton?”

It followed a shy smile from both of them. “You didn’t call back,” Randall found his voice first.

“I hadn’t the feeling you would appreciate it,” she leaned against his desk, her hands indecisive playing with the zip of her jacket.

He was afraid to ask her why she thought that, knowing the answer privily. That was the reason why he only took in some deep breathes, in hope something good he could say would come up in his mind, what he could tell her. It wasn’t so — of course.

“On the phone, … I could hear what you said to your fellow colleagues,” Clara frowned, she didn’t know yet what he meant. “Someone asked you who was on the phone and you said it was just your boss.”

She remembered, “Yes.”

“Somehow,” he had to take a huge step to say it, “that hurt.”

“Well,” he could see in her expression, that she was about to say something that would hurt him even more.

“-and please don’t say, ‘ _That’s what you are’_ ,” his voice still the same sound level, was now strict and angry. Clara answered it with crossing her arms in front of her.

“Will this be a conversation only you will have? What should I have said? ‘ _It’s Randall, my… affair?’_ ” He kept silent, lowering his eyes to the ground. “Aside it was just a phrase, in the heat of the moment. Why is this suddenly so important to you? I hadn’t the impression it ever was.”

With a face without any impression he looked at her, “What do you mean by that?”

“When we parted on Monday, it seemed to me, that it was pretty much indifferent to you that I was gone till the end of the week. ‘ _See you then’,_ where your words, just saying,” Clara was angry and disappointed. Didn’t this man understand anything? Shaking her head she stepped away from the desk and walked up and down in front of him to sort her thoughts.

“I remember,” Randall observed her and felt danger coming up.

“At least. And then you waited two days for calling, what made this ‘ _see you then’_ just more prominent.”

“As a reminder, you didn’t call either,” it wasn’t the smartest line he had in peto.

Clara laid her head slightly askew, watching him, then a laugh crawled up her throat, “Damn it, Randall! The thing is, I tried to call you… in the office, but you didn’t answer, so I guess you guys seemed busy and…”

“And what?” he stepped forward, his eyes pleading her to go on.

“I couldn’t find the guts to call you on your private line,” she finally said, throwing the line to him, expecting him to be all adult about it. Telling her how childish this thought had been, and how she could be afraid of something like a simple telephone call. Of course she didn’t deserve his attention.

Randall had a hard time processing what she had said, while realising they shared the same cowardice and that once more there were too many misunderstandings. Not having a relationship — how serious it was or not — for so long, revealed to him, that there were many things one had to take care of, had to think about and Randall knew he was more than rusty in it. And that’s why he missed answering in the time window Clara had silently given him before she threw her arms into the air, all unnerved.

Walking to the door, bumping against his arm while passing him, she only said, “It’s true isn’t it. It wasn’t important to you. It really wasn’t. I mean, what was this all along, all the time? About sex. A little affair between you and me. It wasn’t anything else, wasn’t it, Randall? So why the fuss, mh? God, how stupid I was,” for a moment Randall believed Clara would start to cry, “For a second I had thought… it meant something to you,” she was about to open the door, but Randall was finally catching up and lunged forward, pressing the door shut with his hand.

“I hadn’t the guts to call either,” he said. “I wanted in the evening, but told myself you were surely busy, or didn’t care. I thought the same like you. And when you told them I was just your boss, it was the final stake pushed into me, giving the doubts the upper hand.”

Clara looked at him with wide open eyes, stepping away from the door again, “So-”

“-You mean something to me. And I acted like a twat. I thought when I tell you that this is more for me, you would get cold feet. You told me, you not want a serious relationship, and that your career is more important and I respect that. I … I simply figured, when I act the way I acted, you … you would at least come back to me.”

“Come back to you?” Clara whispered, slowly understanding that Randall was as confused as she was, and was long over the moment he only cared slightly about her. As she was.

The only thing Randall could answer at first with, was a helpless laugh. “I know I repeat myself, but I figured you will be away, the moment you find a nice looking beau, with a fancy sport scar, and you’ll tell me; that’s it. It’s not a hard decision is it? 57 year old, past-his-prime journalist, spending boring weekends with tea and newspapers or a young, briskly, six-pack-wearing … Hugh Grant, whisking you away to parties and rock concerts.”

“Hugh Grant?” Clara started to grin over his comparison. “You know he is like 55 or so?”

“I am talking about the Hugh Grant in the… the 90s. Or whoever you would fancy!” he placed his keys with verve onto the table and hung his jacket back into his locker. “I am not very good with pop culture. The fact is-”

“-the fact is, you are right!” she stopped him, raising one hand. “You are so right, it’s indeed not a hard decision. The most easiest I had ever to make. Because what we do is totally stupid.”

Randall’s head dropped, his hands reaching for his tie, almost violently pushing the fabric up and down, “There is no need in humiliation.”

“Oh, shut up!” she stepped up to him, and aside he was towering over her, he felt very small in this moment. “I’d choose you any day over this sports car driving Disney prince you just described. What’s with the sports car anyway? Do you really think that would make it for me? Obviously you know nothing about me.”

“Obviously!” was the only thing he could say before she had pulled him down to kiss him hard on the lips. They stumbled against the window behind them, and Randall sat down onto the radiator, holding her by the waist. “Wait a minute, did you just say, you would choose me?”

Clara threw him a smug expression, “No, I didn’t, but kissed you anyway? Yes! I did!”

“I don’t understand.”

She gave him a last chased kiss on the lips before stepping away, leaving him puzzled by the radiator, “Because I realized, that you are telling yourself tales about me, that are so not true — exactly like I do.”

“Tales?”

“Yes, tales about Hugh Grant and a sports car,” she smiled with a gleam in her eyes, that Randall melted in the inside. “You wanna hear my tale? A tale about a 57 year old good looking Scot, who is smart and kind of sexy in his suits, who is everything but boring, who is kind and one of the best teachers I ever met, but who probably will one day say he has enough of all of it, and retire somewhere by the shore, in the countryside, buying a dog, and taking long walks. Being done with his career-obsessed … girlfriend, who is all immature, as she wants to stick around in London or New York for a bit, having fun. And that’s why you will walk away from me one day. That’s my tale, and …”

“... and it’s totally wrong,” he stepped forward, reaching out for her hands, bowing down to bring himself to eye-level with her.

“Is it?”

“I am allergic to dogs,” he chuckled and she chuckled too. “And cats. I’m fine with peanut butter, if that helps in any way.”

Their hands entwined, Clara placed one on his cheek, smiling lovingly at him, “Not sure yet.”

“Clara, I don’t know what I will do in the future. If I will retire to the countryside or get a mid-life crisis and will travel to Las Vegas to spend all my money, I don’t know. And if I don’t know, you can’t know.”

“Okay, listen, we have to stop this, this worrying. This lying to ourselves.”

“We have to, yes,” he touched his chest, where his heart beat, finally some of the worries and the anticipation falling off of him. “Just one serious question. When the hell did you get so mature with 29? Because when I was 29 I was basically… an Idiot... as I still am, obviously.”

Clara broke out into laughter, brushing her nose with the back of her hand, “Ah, you know, girls are always a bit faster than boys.”

When Randall was about to sweep her into his arms for a kiss, it knocked at the door, and a few seconds later, Bel stood in the room. Randall and Clara stood side by side as if they had been struck by a lightning and when Randall saw that Bel was still focused on some papers in her hand, he made a swift motion over to his desk, to grab some random file.

“Randall, listen I -,” Bel saw Clara and broke into a smile. “Clara! You are already back?”

Rubbing her hands together, Clara suddenly asked herself how her lipstick was coming along, “Yeah, they let us go earlier, so we could all avoid the rush hour.”

Either her lipstick was fine, or Bel was brilliant with a poker face, “Very commendable you came to the office, instead of going home. Or did you call her in?”

“No,” Randall answered quickly, his hands trailing along the lapels Clara had grabbed a few minutes ago. “Just came in, asking if her hands are needed.”

“Yes, I thought Danny might could need some help, as I left a few articles behind,” Clara smirked, and walked with a clearing of her throat to the door, glad her hair covered her ears, as they were burning under Bel’s inquisitive looks. If someone would find out about them, it was for sure Bel, she thought, and quickly vanished to her office.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will follow soon.


	16. 16_Shadows in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We now slowly come back to the story in the background, while Randall and Clara seem to come at ease in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised I post everything I have these days.

Two weeks went by in a strange bliss between Randall and Clara, filled with hard work and long days. Shared glances over the day and passionate kisses in the evening, when Randall came to Clara’s home, tired but also full of vim.

Sometimes he stayed the night, pacing down the stairs in the morning, to the bakery across the street to bring her warm croissants and coffee. Sometimes he left late at night, for a change of clothes (refilling his spare bag) and to be at home doing things he had to do, at least for a bit.

Bel and Freddie lived nearby his apartment and he knew earlier or later one of them would notice that his car wasn’t at it’s usual spot, when he would stay away all the time. It was also the reason, why they stayed at Clara, to avoid awareness. Not that he ran into Bel or Freddie often aside work, but everything that can happen, will, he said to Clara and she was fine with it.

On the weekends, he made them lunch or dinner, and Clara organised some old movie they could watch, while laying on the couch together. Randall behind her, caressing her arm and back.

When he had realized she had fallen asleep, he had muted the movie, and simply kept on crawling her arms and her neck, resting his head on a pillow watching her breath in and out totally at ease. Feeling it made him calm, forgetting the buzzing thoughts about work and the hectic life.

After an hour he felt himself doze of a few times, and when he rested his hand on her hip, Clara suddenly stirred awake. Like a cat.

Then her hand landed on his, and he couldn’t be sure, if she was fully awake when she moved his hand up and down her hip, telling him to go on with his ministrations.

He smirked, “Clara,...”

“Mh?”

“I caressed you for almost an hour!”

She pressed herself closer against him, “It’s nice.”

Kissing her neck, he smiled against her warm skin, “I can imagine that.”

She turned slightly, facing him, “Wanna switch?”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Really?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated for a moment, “Wouldn’t that be…”

“What?”

“Some sort of a relationship thing?”

She thought about it, “I never had a boyfriend who caressed me for an hour and I never did that to someone else. You?”

“No, not really,” he saw where she wanted to go. “Not for an hour.”

They both smiled coy at each other.

“So, it’s obviously no regular relationship thing then,” she shrugged, giving him a quick kiss.

“We are safe you mean?” Randall had long given up to understand the rules of all this. Clara made them and he followed, without questioning the sense of them.

She smiled, “yes.”

He smirked, and then she snuggled back into his arm, and grabbed his hand to lay it back into the crook of her neck.

“I thought it’s my turn now?”

“In five,” she kissed the nape of his throat.

And Randall knew it didn’t matter to him if it meant five minutes or five years, and kept on caressing her, till they both fell asleep.

##

In this time, at one time, Randall found a letter on his desk among the other mail he received, with just his name on it, and nothing more. It was a plain message from Freddie, telling him “to meet at _The Inn_ ”.

The Inn was a bar a few streets down that was actually called a three syllable name, none of them could remember, so they simply had started to call it ‘The Inn’. Meeting there with people who wanted to deliver a story to the magazine. It was the classical cliche of a neutral place in public.

They knew the crowd that went there, and they knew the owner, and it gave them all the possibility to talk to people in a known surrounding, while the people felt also save. Not seldom snitches not wanted to come to the office, and this place seemed to be a safe haven for everyone. Many talks had been made there, about delicate stories. Informations had been exchanged about ruthless businessman and philandery of a few.

Particular Freddie had found a good retreat in ‘The Inn’, meeting there with contacts and sometimes Randall, when he thought it was not safe enough to meet him in the office. The last two times they had met there, it was once Freddie telling him, that he would ask Bel to marry him, and he needed someone to calm his nerves, and the other time he had some delicate information about bought votes for the mayoral election. So Randall assumed there was something up.

So Randall left the office, telling Bel, he had to fetch a book, he had ordered, and left without another word, sensing that Bel sensed something was up. As usual she kept quiet, waiting for him to come to her before she would openly tell him, that there was certainly no book.

Randall ordered a tea and waited in his booth, till Freddie sat across from him, with a tired and stressed expression, “Glad you could came.”

“What’s the matter?” Randall unconsciously checked the man for bruises, fearing something bad had already happened.

Freddie fumbled for his pack of cigarettes. Not that he smoked often, but when, there was a reason. After Randall declined an offer to smoke one too, Freddie took a deep drag and said, “We are in trouble.”

Randall rose an eyebrow, “Aren’t we always?” In the end, that was what the magazine did. Finding trouble and making headlines out of it.

“No, Randall, this is... ,” he hesitated for a moment, something he never did. And Randall knew it was not only trouble, it was deep trouble. “I have found someone who wants to talk to us. He still needs a bit of … convincing, but I think he will talk. Not for the magazine, but he seems to have informations that are very delicate.”

“What sort of information?”

“As you predicted, that’s not only about a bit of corruption, not about one or two persons,” Freddie squeezed the cigarette into the ashtray, glancing around in the room which was filled with some faces they knew, the usual drinkers and some he couldn’t place. “This thing could be end up to be a loose cannon. I can’t tell you more, just… if we go on, it will hurt.”

“Hurt whom?” Randall traced along a coaster that laid stray on the table.

“Everyone.”

It was the way Freddie said it that sent a shiver down Randall’s back. With a certainty that left no doubt. There would be hurt, there would be victims. A story actually too hot to do, but they couldn’t retreat now, they were in too deep, that it was also what Freddie told him with it. Even he had used the if-form, they both knew, there was no way back. They had stirred up the sea already, had made noise. If they wouldn’t go the way, someone else would and that they couldn’t let happen.

“How fast can you make him talk?”

“Give me a week or two,” Freddie bit his thumb. “I have to find a place, we can’t do it here. Motel or god knows where. He hasn’t spilled much yet, the only thing I know he his flippin’ afraid.”

“What your guts are telling you?”

“Not sure, I know I feel watched since a couple of days, so I let it go for a bit, wait how the situation plays out,” Freddie grabbed his coat, standing up. “Don’t tell anyone. There is someone circling around us, but they don’t know if we are worth the effort. We should try to do as if we are not. I’ll be in the office on Friday, as usual.”

“Freddie,” Randall reached for his tea, “be careful.”

The younger man winked at him, and then left Randall behind, whom slowly drank his tea, thinking about the diffuse situation.

The last few days with Clara had made him forget about all this, about how all this with Clara and him had started. He had forgotten, that there had been a moment, where Clara’s life had been at stake, and he scolded himself foolish for it.

They had all thought, things would go back to normal, and a lot of people already had forgotten that not two weeks ago they had stood in front of a closed building because there had been a bomb threat.

As it had turned out false alarm, people had dismissed it as prank, as something not serious. Because people do such thing, so they could deal with it better. Even he had done it. Yes, he had known it was something serious, he was long enough in the business for it, but then he had looked at Clara and had forgotten everything around him. Because Clara had become his centre.

“You are worried,” she told him in the evening, brushing against his temple, while he sat at the dinner table at her place, brooding over the conversation he had with Freddie.

Clara smiled over his surprised look, and the try of a smile, when he grabbed her hand, and kissed it. “I told you, it’s that part here,” again she placed a finger between his eyes, then cupping his cheek and leaned in for a kiss.

She didn’t ask him why he was worried, as she sensed, he wouldn’t tell her. Maybe he would, but it was nothing he wanted, and so she let him be and hoped he would tell her sooner or later, or it would end up to be just a little nothing.

##

On Friday, Freddie stood in Randall’s office, smiling joyful at him. He looked all different to the last time in the Inn and Randall felt some sort of relieve. Then he noticed Bel coming up to him, and he knew Freddie was faking. Faking good mood and care-freeness for his wife. Freddie couldn’t allow others to be affected, it could ruin everything. If Bel would know, she would start to ask questions, would maybe even start to follow him around, try to talk him out of it. She would become the centre of attention to everyone who shadowed them in the dark.

When she had walked away from him for a moment, Freddie only shook his head at Randall, telling him, he hadn’t went on further, was still waiting for his contact, “Next week, probably.”

“What’s next week?” Bel returned, giving Freddie a kiss on the cheek.

“Your birthday, isn’t it?”

“My birthday is in May,” Bel hit him. “You boys have secrets, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Randall came to help. “That’s what… boys do, don’t they?”

Bel lingered on both of them very long with her eyes, and then finally shrugged, “Yes, that’s what they do. Anyway, tonight is Jazz night downstairs. You promised we go, love.”

Downstairs, a reference to a club, a bar, something in between across the street from them. People from the office spent their evenings there, a last beer before going home or a dance, bit of socialising.

Freddie nodded, of course he would go, it would do him good, “Will you come too?”

Both, Bel and Randall looked at him flabbergast. Sometimes they asked him to come for a drink, or at least a glass of water, but Randall usually declined. And for certain, so Bel guessed, he would decline an invitation to a jazz night. With a crowd and with dancing.

Bel shared a look with Randall, almost dared him to tell her otherwise.

“A Jazz night?” he then asked, buying himself time. Knowing he was always all so awkward about social events outside of works. Bel had spent much time to ask him over and over again, telling him to come, but he never really wanted. What for, there was no reason. Till now.

“It would mean, you might have to dance with me,” Bel teased.

“I am sure Randall can dance,” Freddie shook his head over his wife. “We all go. Danny. Clara. A few others, you are always welcome.”

“I know, thank you,” was all Randall said for the moment, smirking over Bel’s expression of ‘ _come on old man, give yourself a push’_.

Then she spotted Clara by the printer, waving her over, “If you make him come, I’ll give you the next big article that comes along.”

Clara joined them by Randall’s door, and smirked, “That’s not very professional, isn’t it?”

Bel shrugged, “Of course not, but I tried everything I could, maybe you have more luck.”

“And I can hear you, thanks,” Randall protested from his desk, doing as if he wanted to do some important things on his computer while everyone else tried to annoy him.

“Think about it!” Freddie only said, and tucked Bel away.

Randall shook his head in amusement, when,

“Why don’t you come?” Clara asked, still there, casually leaning against the door.

“I don’t think...I…,” the problem was he would love to come. And didn’t know how to say it, let alone do it.

“You know, it’s not forbidden to allow yourself a bit of fun, as the Head of News, or do you have some quirky contract, that forbids it?” Clara teased.

He smiled, losing his tensions, “I might need to double check that, but I am certain I ruled that point out, when I signed.”

“That’s good,” she smiled back at him, biting her lower lip, and needed to grin anyhow. “Also when you join us, for once, it will not bind you to invite us to tea and cookies on a Sunday, or forbids you to give us a shout,” Clara spoke out his reasons not to come with the group. “Aside you rarely shout at us. So we might settle on ... glare at us, then?”

The truth was, he wanted to stand up and sweep her from the floor, into his office, close the door and kiss her senseless. And he was sure she knew. The way she looked at him, she knew it all, and she wouldn’t stop him.

Instead of following his anti-Randall urge, he swallowed and pointed at his papers with his pen, “Let me finish my reports, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“You mean, you’ll try to catch up,” Clara smirked, with a smug expression.

For a second he lowered his eyes, astonished how good she read in him, “I’ll do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another chapter at hand, that I probably post tomorrow.


	17. 17_Dancing in a Burning Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a dance. Passion in the air, and also danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I think I all lulled you in with the last ... 10 chapters... but now it's time to get serious again...

He held her. Close. One hand resting on the small of her back, the tips of his long fingers softly digging into her waist. With the other he held Clara’s hand between them, by his collarbone. They were way too close, way too familiar with each other. And maybe the other would have noticed, would have read the signs and would have discovered their little secret, but they were all to drunk and too busy with themselves.

Freddie was busy seducing Bel with words and kisses and Danny was busy dancing with a beautiful girl he had talked to half the evening. As it seemed, none in the room would go home alone this night.

Randall’s and Clara’s bodies pressed against each other. While the slow song continued, he never let her out of his eyes. The moment he had entered the room, he had watched her, had longed for her.

Of course because he was Randall, he had taken his time to ask her for a dance, and when she had asked him, he had declined at first, telling her he was a bad dancer — an obvious lie. She had pouted at him, sensing his little game, and Freddie had jumped in and he had envied the young man for a moment, also knowing he would get his dance.

He had to wait, wait for them to be drunk, their minds slurred and off the dance floor, so he could be alone with Clara in a crowded room. He gazed down at her, his thumb making little circles on the small of her back — he couldn’t stop himself.

Their mouths lingered close and he felt her breath hitching against his lips, and it needed all of his strength not to kiss her right there.

Her hand caressed the back of his neck, tracing the fine, accurate line of his haircut and like it was an accident, her fingertips came around his neck, and fondled the backside of his ear.

When the music stopped, he leaned in toward her ear, whispering; “Would you like to go?”

“Yes,” she breathed, taking in his aftershave, feeling his lips touch her ear while speaking.

He smiled with his eyes at her, and then stepped back, turning with her to the others who were all still busy.

“I’ll bring Clara home, and I see you people Monday in the office,” he said, in his usual stern tone, no one would suspect him to be up to anything indecent. Clara had been attacked, it was clear someone had to guide her home.

Also Clara played the stubborn, only to tease him, and to keep up the charade, “You really don’t have to. It’s just a ten minute walk.”

“No, Clara,” Freddie interrupted his love whispering into Bel’s ear. “Let him take you. It’s better to be safe these days, than sorry.”

Randall made a face as he wanted to say “See!” and Clara nodded, “You are right. I see you all on Monday. Have fun!”

Randall held out her jacket and when they left the bar, he placed a careful hand on the small of her back again, guiding her. The air was breezy again, and they both shuddered for a moment when they stepped outside. Clara turned instinctively toward Randall and he mirrored her motion, his hands finding a place on her shoulders, again looking at her.

She felt his thumbs on her neck, feeling her heart quicken, her hands landing on his chest, “Randall.”

He leaned down, and Clara went on her tiptoes stretching her back, and when they almost kissed, a couple stumbled under laughs out of the bar, and Randall and Clara jumped startled apart. Awkwardly smiling at each other.

They had to get away from the crowd, Randall thought, and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him, toward the next shelter he could find. A house entrance. 

He turned around, making sure no one was following them, no one could see, then he placed his hand on her back, guiding her against his body toward the dark corner.

“But-”

He kissed her tenderly, his hands cupping her face, moving his mouth against hers till he heard her moan and felt her hands around his neck.

Clara had only one beer, sipping on it forever, while she had watched Randall watch her, and while she had waited the others would get drunk and busy.

The moment he had stepped into the room, her body had been buzzing — let alone the heavy anticipation of his arrival. Every time someone did come in, she had looked up only to be disappointed, and she had known she had to stop it before one of the others would see what she was doing.

So she had turned her back to the door making small talk with the others, dancing a little with Danny before he had spotted the girl by the bar, and had excused himself.

She had watched him for a bit, flirting with the girl, mentally cheering for him, when the woman had agreed to dance with him.

“Did I miss anything?” Randall’s voice by her ear had made her almost jump out of the seat. His hand touching her upper arm for a short second.

“Uhm, no, I was watching Danny,” she had smiled and her heart had found a rhythm again after stop beating when he had approached her. “And…”

“And?”

Clara saw Bel and Freddie come back from the bar, “And we all were wondering, if you really would show up, … boss. Look!”

“Randall!” Bel cheered. “This is… new.”

He smiled gently at her, not letting her mock him, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Clara must have a good affect on you,” Freddie smiled at Clara.

Randall saw that Clara got uncomfortable, unsure if Freddie implied anything, “She simply asked me to come. And after all what had happened, I thought, I need to see what my people are doing when I am not looking.”

“So you are controlling us, then?” Bel rolled her eyes, as if she knew he was not here for pleasure.

Before he answered, he glanced at Clara for a moment, then shoved his hands into his pocket and said, “Yes.” He left them behind, while he strode over to the bar, getting himself a glass of soda.

Clara had been burning under his glances all evening, and now with him kissing her passionately in the corner of the house entrance, she felt like a phoenix rising into higher spheres. The taste of soda, the smell of his aftershave, worn all day and mixed up with sweat, and his strong arms around her, made her forgot they shouldn’t do this, made her forgot they were still playing hide and seek with the others, what sometimes sent remorse through her.

Right now it wasn’t important to her that it was actually a lie they had. She never wanted to stop kissing him, never again be separated from him. No, her heart wouldn’t let her — beating so hard under his attentions that she thought she might die of it. Every nip at her lips, every touch by her neck a new experience, sending shivers and waves of passion through her.

How could this man do this to her? Hadn’t she promised herself not to fall in love with him? Wasn’t it that what she told herself every morning when she looked into the mirror? Not to fall in love with Randall Brown.

She had told him, demanded it almost, ‘ _don’t expect me to do so!’_ And what had he done with the information? Nothing, had simply ignored it and had thrown himself into this — her.

She had unarmed him with her plan. Clara had almost promised him not to fall in love with him, and that might was the promise he needed to let go of his walls, his armour, his last retreat. Randall couldn’t tell. What did it matter? When she would not love him, he didn’t need to fight for her love, and simply could be.

When there was no love, there certainly wouldn’t be love in him. A silly thought for a man having dozens of books about psychology at home.

‘ _How gormless can you be?’_ he scolded himself. ‘ _Love grows, despise all promises, all attempts to stifle it down. And you let it. You let her do this to you.’_

They broke away from each other, when somewhere a empty glass bottle got smashed. Only an inch apart they both struggled for air, while their hearts beat fast and their minds raced.

“Clara-”

“-Let’s get to my place.”

He smiled at her, seeing the passion in her eyes, knowing she could see the same in him, “Yes.”

Randall grabbed Clara’s hand and pulled her with him, holding her close, walking fast down the street, always an eye on her. When they had brought some more distance between themselves and the bar, Clara stopped him and chuckled over his befuddled expression, before she pulled him into another kiss. She felt drunk, aside not being. She was drunk of him.

He smiled against her lips, pecking them, fondling her hair with his fingers, not able to get enough of her, “Maybe we should take a cab.”

“That would so spoil the fun,” she grabbed the lapels of his coat and was about to kiss him once more, when not far down the street two jeering voices interrupted them. Another bottle got smashed, and Clara and Randall stared down the street to find two man stumble toward them.

They both seemed to be drunk, as they both less walked as more falling forward, bumping into each other, while laughing hysterically. Clara and Randall shared a glance, unsure if the two men laughed at them or about something else.

Sliding his hand into Clara’s Randall wanted to cross the street with her, when one of the men spoke up, “Look at those two love birds, Jack! Especially look at her!”

Randall stopped for a moment, glaring at the two, and then wanted to keep going, sensing trouble coming up. Nothing he wanted to happen at such a nice evening.

“Stop it!” the voice yelled, now only meters away. “I was talking to you!”

He couldn’t tell why he stopped, but he did. Something was tingling his senses. Clara instead wanted to go on, and tugged at his hand, but Randall didn’t move, holding her hand tight in his. He didn’t look at her, but he felt her questioning stare at him, and so for only a moment he turned to her, shaking his head merely.

Clara couldn’t put sense in the gesture at that moment, but the grip of his hand, the posture of his body told her they were okay, and it was the right thing to do, to not walk away, even it didn’t feel like it.

“Actually,” the other man, Jack, slightly smaller, dark hair, rubbing his scruff, laughed, “you weren’t.”

The other stared dumbfounded at his accomplice, before bursting out in laughter, nipping from a bottle of beer he was holding, “That’s right. Well, now I _do_!” He stepped forward and Randall stepped in front of Clara, not letting go of her.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, his accent he usually hid, now very prominent.

“Not sure?” the man without a name smiled, stepping more to the side to catch a glimpse at Clara.

She wanted to step up, tell him to stop looking, to go away, or she would do something to him, but she stopped herself. “Randall, we should go,” Clara whispered instead.

The man immediately caught up on it, “Yeah, Randall, you should. Why you don’t go? And leave her with us. So?”

“There is a police station down the street,” Randall’s free hand became a fist. “You not want to get in trouble, do you?”

The men shared glances. The one called Jack seemed the more reasonable one at the moment, telling, “Mike, come on, let's go. He is right, I saw a police car.”

“Shut up, Jack!” he turned back to Randall. “Who are you anyway? Her sugar daddy? Damn girl, I thought you are a clever one-”

“-Shut up!” Clara stepped to Randall’s side, being done with the situation. “I got pepper spray in my purse, so if you not want to cry your fucking eyes out, you better step away.”

Randall was impressed, and almost broke the glare at the man, to acknowledge Clara’s braveness. Asking himself at the same time if she really had pepper spray in her purse.

“Uh!” Mike sing songed and actually made a step back. “So, she has to fight for you, daddy? Not able to fight for yourself?”

Randall kept quiet, knowing it would not do anything good. Knowing all his arguments only would be twisted into slanders. It made the brown haired man angry, and he threw the glass bottle into a corner, with a furious face, stepping forward with verve, and with that Clara pulled out her pepper spray, and it brought some sense back into him.

“Jesus, what a minx!” he grinned bold at Randall. “What fun you must have with her. Coward!”

For a second he forgot his instinct and wanted to step forward, give into the provocation, but Clara stopped him, squeezing his hand, and he immediately stepped back. He turned around with her, one eye always on the two, so they could safely cross the street. Maybe he had been wrong, they shouldn’t have stopped. Now he wanted to get away from them, get Clara away.

For a few moments they thought, the men would let go of them, leave them alone, but then, “Better keep an eye on her!” again there was something in the voice, that made Randall frown, made him stop in the middle of the street.

Clara didn’t notice and walked on, and only realized when their hands let go of each other. First she stared at Randall, he looked as if he had heard a ghost. He wasn’t frightened, but aware of something. Alerted. Then she glanced behind him, to the man who had called out, he was still standing at the same exact spot, not moving, just grinning and waiting.

“Come on, Randall. They only want to provoke us,” Clara tugged at his arm, grabbing his hand again, still holding the pepper spray in her other.

“I know,” he whispered, and yet he didn’t move.

Something shifted in the air, and while Jack stayed in the shadows, it was Mike who slowly walked into the direction of Randall, but kept a good distance, “Things can happen, … Randall.”

Randall let go of Clara’s hand, and walked up to him, not quite sure if it was a good idea, but there was something in the voice of this man, something dangerous. Not for the moment, more for the future.

He was taller as him, a few inches only, “You touch her-”

“-or what?”

They both whispered sharply with each other. Tension between them — ice cold.

“I swear, if you molest her or me, I’ll take actions,” Randall was about to grab his jacket to underline his warning, when something in him stopped him. For a second he glanced over the shoulder of him, to see the other in the shadows, and when they locked eyes the man quickly turned away.

A dirty chuckle brought Randall back, frowning. Something was off, and he couldn’t tell what, and it unnerved him. And then it hit him. There was no scent of alcohol in the air.

“Step away, or we will take actions,” Mike said. Sober. Clear. A threat. “Hold your people back, or you’ll pay the price… Mister Brown. Starting with the girl.”

Horror overcame Randall when a scary assumption built up in his head. The attack. The bomb threat. “Don’t you dare!”

“Oh, I do dare,” a dirty smile and a shift of his head made Randall uncomfortable.

“She has nothing to do with it!” he suddenly said.

“She has everything to do with it,” the man leaned slightly in, whispering. “Aside... she started it. She is what we call a pressure point.”

Randall furrowed his brows, not understanding.

The man made a smacking sound, “Ta, ta, haven’t you learned nothing in your long career as journalist. In your times at war? Well, let me explain very quickly. There seems not much that is important to you, and it was hard to find, but then… the girl. Sugar daddy cares for her, and that’s his pressure point then.”

For a few seconds he stared at him, processing the information he’d been given, weighing the possibilities of an answer. Then an emotionless smile crossed over his lips, “You’re wrong. The girl means nothing to me.”

They were both good with their poker faces, but Mike’s slipped for a moment and revealed the doubt he now got from Randall’s comment. “Say again?”

“The girl,” Randall stepped forward, “means nothing to me. Just a fling.”

Mike stared at him for the longest time, and then he shifted his eyes behind Randall, “Whatever.”

Clara had walked up to them, without him noticing. Standing away a few feet, but in hearing range. She also kept her poker face, but Randall could sense without turning around what he had done to her with his words.

“Your fling is waiting, better go,” a firm blow with the open hand hit Randall on the shoulder, as sign that he was released.

And when Randall didn’t move, Mike smiled almost in appreciation, and then turned around to leave with the other man.

When Randall finally turned around he met Clara’s eyes, seeing not only confusion, also hurt and oncoming rage in her, “Clara,” she leaned back only an inch, and Randall regretted that he had said it, “Please.”

“We better go now,” she turned around, without waiting for him, crossing the street, heading toward her apartment.

Randall swore under his breath, catching up to her, “Wait!” he didn’t dare to touch her, so he simply stepped in her way. He couldn’t be sure what she had heard and what not. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Whatever,” she shrugged and wanted to go on. This time he reached for her hand and held her.

“No, not whatever! Don’t do this! You know, I had to say it, they threatened us — you,” he hoped for a flicker of understanding in her eyes, but was unable to detect it. “I didn’t-”

“-Whatever! Okay!” she shouted. “I mean it’s true isn’t it?”

“W-What do you mean?”

“It’s just an... affair. You mean nothing to me. I mean nothing to you. So it wasn’t a lie exactly,” she ripped her hand from his.

“It’s not that easy, Clara, please, don’t…,” he didn’t know what to say. It was not the place for it. There was still danger and an argument on the street was not the way to deal with all this. “We have to get a cab.”

“What for? It’s only another block to my place.”

“We are not going to your place, it’s too dangerous,” he stepped on the street to stop a cab that was driving by. “We go to my place, away from them.”

“I-,” she not wanted to go with him. Not after all this, but she knew they better stayed together. “Only when you explain yourself.”

“I’ll do,” he nodded, knowing he would promise her everything, only to get her away from the street. Maybe his apartment wasn’t a save place either, but he knew Bel and Freddie lived close, and that felt a bit more safer as at Clara’s place, which had been attacked before.

In the end Clara gave in and they jumped into the car, Randall telling the driver his address. They stayed silent, Randall only turning around a few times to check if someone was following. Apparently not. Clara was seething aside him, keeping her emotions down, only staring out the window, but he felt it. And it hurt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, when I am able I will post another chapter tomorrow, and then this is everything I have at the moment, but so now I have all those stored chapters of my shoulders and hope I can write without trouble to keep this story going. Thanks for your reads!!!


	18. 18_Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did he mean it? His words to a stranger about Clara? Can't Clara understand? Will Randall convince her about his feelings? And how will they proceed now after danger has come closer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I produced another chapter, slowly coming forward. Another one is also almost done, but give me a few days and hopefully this will please my dear readers for the moment.

At his place, Randall locked the door, closed all blinds. He kept the lights low and only turned on two small lamps in the corner. Clara sat down onto his sofa without invitation and without taking off her coat.

After he had busied himself taking off his coat and rearranging some newspapers that had fallen down, after he had drawn the blinds hectically, he slowly walked up to her, “Do you… do you want something to drink? Tea perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” she crossed her arms in front of her. She was not in the mood to let the matter drop, and not in the mood to really talk about. She was angered and hurt, and she knew herself that it was an unfortunate combination. As usual she would say something she would later regret.

Randall watched her for a moment, unsure what to do. He loosened the knot of his tie, and fiddled with a small wooden elephant figure that stood on the side board. “I didn’t mean it,” he then said. “And you know I had to say it.”

Clara counted till four in her head. “The thing is,” Clara stood up, shoving down her coat, only to throw it in anger over the sofa, noticing the short panic in Randall’s eyes, “it sounded very convincing.”

He knew how it had sounded, it had even sounded convincing to himself, and it scared him now. Ruffling his hair, he exhaled loudly, “You are not… do you think I mean it?”

“I only know you for three weeks, how shall I know?” she blurted out.

“No, you don’t!” he stepped up to her again. “You know me very well for over six month. You watched me, you … studied me. I know that, you know that. It was your little game, remember? Now don’t do as if you don’t know. Because I think you know, you are just not sure. I hurt you and that’s nothing you want. I hurt you badly with my lying words to a man we both don’t know. And still you believe them, feeling doubt creep into you, don’t you? Making all the words, I said to you, about how much I care about you, meaningless. That’s the problem with relationships — one we decided not have by the way — it’s built on something such fragile, that one word can make it collapse.”

Like a disturbed animal he walked up and down in front of her, experiencing his own feelings going haywire inside of him. His little speech not only applied to Clara, it also applied to him. “Ask yourself, would I do such thing? Am I such a person, playing with you? You know the answer, but that would mean… it would mean to acknowledge your own feelings, wouldn’t it?”

Clara huffed, “Are you turning this against me now?”

“I never would!” he stopped on the spot. “I care for you, but I had to say it! Convincingly. Making them doubt. And to know it keeps you safe, is worth making you doubtful.”

Clara didn’t know what to say. Her sound mind was telling her that he had to play the indifferent, but her heart was now filled with distrust. That was the problem, that her heart had a vote in all this. Wasn’t it herself, who had said something about ‘ _not falling in love’_ with each other? How ever could she have thought she could play this game?

“They knew us,” she then said, letting go of the argument for now. Forgiving him for it, but not forgetting about it. Doubt was a stubborn creature. He nodded firm, knowing she needed now a bit of time.

“The man, the other one, I think I knew him. I have seen him before, that’s why he stayed in the shadows,” Randall tried to place his face and it quickly replayed in his mind. He snapped with his fingers, “he was parking to close to my car, now I remember. Meaningless incident. The morning of the bomb threat, when I drove home. There. It was him!”

Clara looked at him in horror, replaying her own little incident, “I had one too. When I left my apartment, after you had left, there was this guy, delivering a package. It seemed he simply had the wrong street number.”

“We’ve been shadowed,” Randall made a fist. Heading for the kitchen to finally make some tea. That’s what he needed now, something soothing, something that would help him think. “I’m sure we’ve all been.”

“Because of some corruption?” Clara joined him in the kitchen, getting two mugs out of the cupboard, and placing sugar and milk aside, while Randall put the kettle on the stove.

“We need to talk to Freddie, I’ll try to call Bel,” with one hand Randall took two spoons out, and with the other he flipped through his phone and tried to call Bel.

Clara watched him leaning against a counter, and when the kettle clicked, she stepped up and took it so Randall could finish the call. She hadn’t been in his place before, and she had guessed she would feel unfamiliar, but the exact opposite it was.

Yes, it looked different to her place, very clean and everything was in order. The books in the shelves, the picture frames on the sideboard, his shoes in the entrance hall. His jackets on the hanger. Also it was not really a surprise for her, she knew him, exactly as he had said to her a few minutes ago. She knew him, his behaviour, his slight OCD, his need to wear clean clothes, or to clean his glasses in a moment of distress. She knew all that and so she hadn’t expected anything else in his apartment. It was clean and cosy, and she liked it.

“Just the mailbox,” he said, and brought Clara back out of her thoughts.

“Well,” she handed him one mug, “it’s after midnight and they were all very drunk and I assume they have better things to do at the moment.”

Randall looked at her puzzled, not getting her hint. Clara rose an eyebrow and then it clicked and he blushed before hiding by drinking from his tea. “I told her we have to meet up in the office as soon as possible tomorrow. Can you text Danny, to come too?”

“Yes, I will,” Clara walked back into his living room to get her phone out of her purse, and then quickly typed a message to Danny, while Randall watched her.

His sight fell into her open purse, seeing the pepper spray, “That was utterly brave, you know that, right?”

Clara looked first at him, then at the purse, before shoving her phone into it, and closing it, “Maybe. It’s not like I haven’t used it before. It’s basically female reality, walking around with some sort of weapon to protect oneself.”

“Sadly it is,” he nodded, slowly sitting down onto the armchair aside the sofa.

“What do we do now?” she asked, one hand on the sofa surface, feeling the soft fabric — it calmed her.

Randall glanced at his watch, “Go to sleep I guess. There is nothing much we can do. We have to come up with a plan tomorrow. What to do, how to proceed.”

Clara looked at him, watching him hold his mug between his hands, and she feared for a moment, he would bring the porcelain to shatter. She waited for him to say something, but instead there was a heavy silence in the room, and only a ticking clock in the room disturbed the complete silence.

After a few minutes, she felt how weariness crawled into her body and she couldn’t hold back a yawn any longer, “Sorry.”

With a jolt Randall looked up to her, for a few fleeting moments, he had forgotten about her being here. As if he was in a state of disorientation his looks flew around the room, only then he realized, that she was visiting his place the first time, “It should be me, being sorry. If you need anything, you are welcome to move around as you please,” he stood up to bring his mug back to the kitchen. “The bathroom is second door to the left. If you want to take a shower or a bath…”

“I am fine, thank you,” she stood up too, following him, holding out the mug to him. “Maybe in the morning?”

Almost startled he looked at her, “In the morning… of course.”

“So…?” Clara was unsure how to proceed. She was dead tired, but as she never had been in his place and they had the argument earlier, she didn’t know how to tell him, she wanted to go to bed. “I… I didn’t bring a pyjama.”

Randall froze on the spot for a moment, staring down to the mug, that was still in her hands. He was not only tired, he was hurt. His heart hurt, and he knew he had done it to himself. For a second he was back on the street, seeing himself in the distance telling the other man, that Clara was nothing to him. Telling him she was a fling, and he wanted to step up to himself to shout some sense into his past self. He hadn’t seen her face the moment he had said it, now it was too him, that he could see it and it wasn’t hurt he had done to her. It was betrayal.

Clara touched his hand carefully, after he didn’t say anything for twenty seconds, “Randall?”

“Clara, I…!” not ‘ _I am sorry’_. Not ‘ _I was wrong_ ’. “I…” he couldn’t, and was close to tears.

Clara placed the mug aside, and cupped his face into her hands, making him bow down to her, “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he quickly objected, his hands reaching around her wrists, but not taking her hands away.

“Did you mean it? What you said on the street?”

“No! You have to believe me-”

And then she went on her tiptoes and pressed her lips hard against his, kissed him. Her eyes fell shut while her hands and arms came around his neck, pressing herself into him, deepening the kiss. Randall had no other change as to respond, flinging his arms around her, lifting her up into his arms, so they would not fall over.

Clara kissed him as if her life depended on it, and and when the air in her lungs slowly run out, she kissed him a few seconds longer, and then it was Randall who gasped greedily for air, “Clara…”

“If you ever hurt me again, I’ll turn away from you and will do, as if you have never existed,” she said stern, brushing her thumb against his lips, her eyes flickering between them and his eyes. When he was about to answer, she pressed two fingers against his lips, keeping him quiet. “As you said, when you want to leave me because of another woman or because you want to get lost in the world — do it. Tell me and do it, but god help you, when you will ever hurt me again.”

Randall breathed hard, his eyes piercing at her, while he still held her in his arms. She weighed nothing, and when her words had sunk in, he closed the gap of their lips, kissing her passionately.

He’d give his life for her, even she wouldn’t understand why. He’d do anything to protect her from harm, inflicted through others or himself. He’d prove himself worthy to her, and that’s why he carried her to his bed, and kissed her all night long, made love to her, without thinking about his own release. He knew it was pathetic, knew the sex wouldn’t convince her to stay, but it was the only ‘ _weapon’_ he had at the moment. Randall hoped she would guess the words he couldn’t speak earlier, by the way he treated her body and soul through the night.

They both were desperate, to make it good again, to make a step further in their relationship. To leave behind the fears of being hurt by the other. Aside the many promises they had made to each others and the discussions they had with each other, none of them could cross the final barrier. Nor Clara, nor Randall could speak about love, about what the other had done to the heart of them. They were caught in clichés, in their own fears, in their own pasts, which had shaped them, had built the walls around their hearts so strong they weren’t able to let them down again.

#

In the morning, Randall’s cellphone rang, and both Clara and him startled awake. Clara curled by his side under the blanket, while he reached over her to get his phone from the night table.

“It’s Freddie,” he stated, taking the call. “Freddie!”

“ _We got your message, has something happened?”_

Randall glanced at Clara, who had opened one eye, watching him, “Sort of. I not want to talk on the phone. How fast can you two be at the office?”

“ _An hour? We have a little hangover I am afraid.”_

“An hour is fine. See you there,” Randall hung up, brushed some hair out of Clara’s face. A shy smile flashed over his face. “You okay?”

“I am fine, just a little tired,” Clara glanced out of the bed, in try to detect her clothes, that were scattered all over the floor.

Randall followed her looks, and after he had thrown over some underwear he quickly collected her clothes from the floor holding them out to her, “If you like to have a fresh jumper, I can provide you with one.”

As she had worn a blouse the day before and a jacket over it, she would appreciate something less formal for the weekend and more comfy, “I guess you not have one, in XS?”

He smirked, stepping to his wardrobe, “Not exactly, but,” he pulled out a sweater from the back of the highest shelf, “this one once shrunk in the washer, after I used the wrong program,” he held a dark blue sweater out to her, with some grey printed letters that said _Glasgow._ He also fished out a black tee in addition.

“Why did you keep it?” Clara asked, shoving the black shirt over her head, she thought she could wear as a dress alone, when she would have had a nice belt at hand.

Randall smirked over the way she stood there, her hands spread away, with bare legs and tousled hair, “Sentimentality. I grew up in Glasgow. Got my first job as a journalist there. Was angry at myself for three month that I made it shrink.”

He smiled at it when she held it in her hands, and then turned back to the wardrobe, finding himself some clothes. When he turned back to her, she was still standing there, the jumper in hand looking at him as if something bad had happened, “Are you alright? Did I say something wrong? Aside I really can’t imagine what could make you upset when I talk about a jumper and the connected memories, also if there is someone who could, it would probably me.”

Clara laughed over his words, stepping forward, “No, it’s just… I just realized, that I know nothing about you.”

Surprised he looked at her, and saw that she was genuinely concerned about the fact, that she knew indeed very less about him, “It’s not as am I go round, telling much about me. You don’t have to feel bad.”

“I could have asked you, couldn’t I?” she finally slipped the jumper over, and it fitted her better as the shirt, but still was at least one size too big. She would cope. “Instead-”

Randall walked up to her, and grabbed her hands, “I could have asked you too, and I didn’t. So there is no need to feel morose. We have been busy — slightly.”

They both blushed, and then Randall let go of her hands again, “There were and are many things that have to be sorted out. There is no haste, Clara, there will be enough time to find about our favourite colour later.”

“Green,” Clara said without thinking. Then sent him a smirk, and walked passed him into the direction of the bathroom. “Is it okay when I take a shower before we leave?”

Randall was still with the ‘green’, when he saw she was waiting, and so he nodded quickly, “You’ll find everything in the drawer. I’ll go down quickly to get us some breakfast. I wasn’t able to run errands this week.”

She smiled knowingly, as he had been with her the last three days, “Sounds great.”

Clara had taken a quick shower by the time Randall returned with some breakfast. They ate in silence and then Randall looked at his watch and told her they should better get on the way toward the office, “We have to take a cab, my car is still parked at the office.”

She nodded and followed him down the stairs, and found herself looking around, searching for suspicious faces. Randall noticed, “I think we are fine,” he grabbed her hand tight in his.

As answer she smiled at him and reached for his face, and kissed him tenderly. She never had done this before, not when there were walking around in public, and when the situation would have been another, he would have reminded her. So he simply forgot about it, and leaned in and enjoyed her hand on his cheek, and her lips against his own. For a little moment they forgot about all the misery. About their secret. For a moment they were themselves and free.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might notice, we still with Randall and Clara but in the next chapter we will embrace the topic of danger a bit more, focus at our little group a bit more. I have some nice ideas, but nothing is written yet.   
> Thanks for your time and your read!


	19. 19_Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the group is together it's time to find out more about the trouble they are in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a really long chapter, and it's a lot of dialogue between "The Gang" and some stuff what has happened in the past. I have to admit, I never really planned the thriller part of this fic, and now I try to play Tom Clancy once again. I hope it's more or less logical and understandable what I am writing about. I mention at one part the NCA what is the National Crime Agency, what should be the British FBI.  
> And don't worry, as I am not Tom Clancy, I will not write a Thriller.. I try, but my main plot is still Clara and Randall.

At the office they were the first and they had to wait twenty minutes till Bel and Freddie finally showed up. At the same time, Danny came in too. They all looked quite knackered and even

Danny who was one of the fittest among them, looked rather done. “The next time, please someone, stop me from drinking those sweet cocktails,” he groaned and flopped down the couch that stood in the conference room.

Clara chuckled, and sat aside him, resting her head on his shoulder, “Welcome to the real world, soldier man.”

Bel groaned and wore sunglasses, inside, “Okay boys, what is it? What is it, that _you_ ,” she pointed at Randall, “make my husband, wake me up at eight in the morning on a Saturday, after a long night of dancing and drinking.”

Randall and Freddie exchanged guilty looks, and Freddie grabbed into his bag he had brought, pulling out a file, and a picture of a man, “This is … let’s call him John Smith for the moment-”

“John Smith?” Bel interrupted and took of the shades. “Is it really that serious?”

Freddie pinned the picture against the white board, licking his lips, inhaling deep, “Yes.”

“We’ve been shadowed,” Randall now rose his voice. “I’ve been, and Clara is. When we left the bar yesterday, we had a little incident too. Two men threatened us.”

“What?” Danny leaned forward, and couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Shocked he looked at Clara.

“I am okay, nothing happened,” Clara rose her hands, to quiet down the general concern. “They were just very annoying. I stayed at Randall’s apartment overnight.” She somehow expected one of the others to jump on that, but none of them said anything. It probably would have been a bigger scandal if she hadn’t stayed there considering the incident.

“It’s not the first time we have been shadowed, I had an incident shortly after the bomb threat, and Clara told me about one she had,” Randall went on. “My conclusion is, we all been shadowed at some point. Most of all, you, Freddie.”

“As I said, I had a feeling about this,” he rubbed over his face, a slight stubble coming up.

“Hold on! As you said?” Bel rose one finger, then turned to Randall. “The book, I knew there was no book you wanted to get,” she put one and one together. Freddie had tried, but of course Bel had noticed, little things. In his behaviour, the way he looked at her. “Since when do you know it’s so dangerous?”

“A while, quite a while.”

“I can’t believe it,” Bel called out, her little hangover forgotten. “And you knew too, since when?”

“A… a week,” Randall avoided her angry glares.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” She turned to her husband, “And why didn’t you stop? Have you gone insane? The both of you maybe?”

Clara tried to bring the attention back to recent events, “Bel, maybe we-”

“-No!” she didn’t even looked at her. “Sorry, Clara, but this is now a dispute between the grown ups.”

That made Clara’s eyebrows shot into the high, pulling a face of surprise. She gave the ‘grown ups’ a huff, and leaned back into the sofa. Danny patted her knee for a moment, knowing how she felt.

“We can’t stop!” Freddie called out loud. “Even if we want to, we can’t stop. When Clara started this, we couldn’t know, that’s why we didn’t stop, and now we — I — know, we can’t stop either. This is so deep!”

Bel wanted to protest, she really wanted. Because the only thing she had in mind at the moment was him, being beaten up again, for some stupid headline. She knew Freddie for years, and he was a brilliant journalist right from the start. He always had what people called “a nose” for a story. He was like a damn bloodhound, always finding the right story, and always finding the most dangerous one. “I swear if someone gets hurt-”

“-It’s my responsibility,” Randall stepped in. He knew how she felt, he knew it was nothing she wanted to relive, but it wouldn’t help to get aggressive over it. Randall was willing to take Freddie off the story and send him on his way to a long necessary vacation with Bel somewhere far away. The thing was, Freddie wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t just let go of the story only because he would ask him to do. He might would surrender to Bel, when she would press him for it, and that could take days, and Bel knew, deep inside her, that it would do no good to their relationship when she would go this way.

“Oh, damn you both!” she only muttered, and ran her fingers through her hair, a sign of surrender.

“Tell us about this man, Freddie,” Randall walked up to the picture, squeezing his eyes, thinking about if he had seen the man ever before. He hadn’t.

“Mister Smith here,” he let his hand gently glide over Bel’s shoulder and then joined Randall by the picture, “can be considered as an insider. I found him in a bar, or let’s say, he found me, when I was about to ask some questions.”

‘ _Those names you are asking about, what is so interesting about them?’ a man, in his late fifties or early sixties Freddie guessed, suddenly spoke to him, while he was writing down some notes in a booth of a bar, he knew was visited by working people from court and parliament._

_No high authorities but people who had enough insight into procedures and data, unimportant to the people in the senate and the lower house, but important enough for Freddie and the magazine, knowing sometimes the right price, the right promises could bring them good information._

_Freddie looked up from his papers, glancing around, finding a man in the booth next to him, casually drinking his beer. He didn’t look like someone working in an office, his hair was outgrown, a stubble, and across from them hung an old, creased brown jacket, that had seen better days once. The rest of the outfit matched to his suspicions, that this man was not working for any political authorities._

_Maybe just some lonely, old man, searching for some attention, a little chat to distract himself from the tediousness of his days._

‘ _It’s for a story I write,’ he said, finding no reason to lie to the old man._

‘ _Story?’ the man seemed amused. ‘Are you one of those blokes, writing about the unfairness of the world? Richer getting richer and the poor getting poorer?’_

_Freddie frowned at him, while the man kept drinking from his beer with a smirk, ‘If it would be so, what does it matter?’_

‘ _Nothin’,’ he scratched his scruff so long, Freddie thought he had lost interest, and his first thought of him being just noisy was right. Then, ‘There wouldn’t be much news in it, would it? I mean, people know about it. And they give a shite about it.’_

‘ _They probably do, yes,’ he was already late, knowing he had to be somewhere else in an hour, and yet something stopped him from excusing himself._

_The man grabbed his glass, and changed from his booth into Freddie’s, sitting across from him now, earning a surprised look, ‘I know who your are, Mister Lyon, and I am sure, you never would waste your time with writing a lame, already known story. Those are for the beginners, you’re ain't one.’_

‘ _Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ Freddie leaned back a bit, thinking about if he had seen the man somewhere before._

‘ _For now, let’s say, my name is John Smith, and no you haven’t seen me before,’ he smirked at him, reaching for his notes, and the younger man let him take them. ‘Those names are useless, when you see them alone, but putting them together on a piece of paper is dangerous Mister Lyon.’_

‘ _What do you know?’_

‘ _Enough to advise you, to let go of it. You and the magazine, you had a warning delivered already,’ he shoved the papers back to him. ‘You people should have taken that as notion to leave the topic alone.’_

_Freddie considered his words, he knew when he said the wrong words, the man would stand up and leave. When someone started a conversation with him, there was a reason for it. Usually people wanted to get some money out of the information they delivered, what was called simply greed, and some people simply wanted to talk, to get something of their conscious. Freddie wasn’t sure yet what side this man was coming from, but he guessed it was the latter, ‘Someone made a mistake in doing so.’_

‘ _Mh,’ the man smiled at his words. ‘Yes, they did, and I can tell you, they knew about the mistake quickly. They hadn’t considered everything, hadn’t considered, that threaten you guys, would make all of you more eager to find out what this is all about. But let me assure you, Mister Lyon, they won’t make a mistake again.’_

‘ _How can you know? Are you one of them? Is this another warning?’_

‘ _It can be, if you want it to be, but I know you, and I think you want it to be an offer.’_

‘ _What kind of offer?’_

‘ _The truth. I offer the truth, about those names, about the connection to dark wheelings and dealings,’ he shrugged and then emptied his beer._

‘ _Who the hell are you?’_

‘ _Someone. Tired of the richer getting rich, and the poor paying for it.’_

‘ _Those are some heroic words, Mister Smith, but I need proof and a bit more than just vague words,’ Freddie knew he needed to play a bluff, when he wanted more, and so he packed his papers away and reached into his pockets to pay his coffee, doing as if he was ready to leave._

‘ _You are in a spider's web, and you don’t know it. You all are! Your Mister Brown, your wife, Miss Rowley, your interns. You want to know what it is about? Here,’ Smith shoved over a card with a telephone number. ‘Give me a call, when you are ready. You should talk with your colleagues about it. It’s a one time number. Don’t waste your chance. And so long, take those names and do a little research. Ask yourself, who is building the conference centre? Ask yourself, why this firm? And who it is connected too. Not in the UK, where else in the world? Find the connections, and you will find out what danger games you are playing.’_

“He left me after it, and that was when I sent you the message, to meet me,’ Freddie finished his story.

“That’s super vague, you know that, don’t you?” Danny spoke up. “That’s like a bad political thriller, I read last week. How did he knew all our names?”

Clara reached over him, to a little table, with some issues from last week and opened the last page, “All our names can be found in the publication information, here. We are listed with names and telephone numbers, why do you think we get all those funny phone calls from readers?”

Danny took the issue from her and clapped it shut with a grumble, “You have a point. Okay, stupid question. So we can imagine, if he knows us, they - whoever they are - know our names too. And when they follow us around, they know where we live. So what do we do? Rent a transporter and drive three hours through town to check into a shady hotel for the next few weeks?”

It was clear Danny would do a lot, but not that.

“I think we are all agree that this is not the solution,” Randall said.

“What did they say to you?” Bel suddenly asked. “The men you guys met, what did they say?” Bel looked over to Clara who only shrugged, she had indeed not heard everything. So she pointed out to Randall.

The only thing he could do was open and close his mouth without saying much, till he settled on a mild lie in his head, “They would go against us. Something like that. We will pay the price, that were the words.”

“That’s even worse as in the book I read!” Danny jumped up from his spot on the sofa. “Guys, honestly, why don’t we call the police, or better the NCA!”

“And we tell them what?” Freddie spoke up. “Newspapers get threats all the time. We have nothing in hand. No names, no nothing!”

“So what do you suggest?” Bel asked him.

Freddie shrugged, reaching into the inside of his jacket, pulling out the card, John Smith had given him, and placed it on the table, “I’d say, we make a call.”

For a long moment the card just laid there, like it was some haunted item, and would burn the person to dust, who would reach out for it. Randall rubbed his chin, and wanted to reach to his tie, when he realised he was only wearing a jumper.

With a silent huff, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, looking over to Clara, who was still sitting on the sofa, looking back at him.

It was Bel who broke the silence, and reached for the card, “Randall?”

His eyes flickered to her, “We are journalists, it’s what we do, isn’t it? Finding out the truth, bringing it to light. Because if we wouldn’t… .”

Randall remembered his time in Croatia. When reporters and news hadn’t reported about the cruelty of this war, of any war, it might never had stopped. It would tell cruel people they could do whatever they wanted, without ever being caught and judged. So he pulled out his phone and dialled the number, put the device on speaker-phone and placed it on the table, while it dialled.

It rang six times, then it became silent. All in the room had gathered around the table with the phone on and looked at each other in irritation. Then there was something like a thud, and a voice over the speaker,

“ _Mister Lyon, I presume.”_

“Yes,” Freddie spoke up. “Mister Smith, I shall inform you, that you are on speaker-phone, and my colleagues are listening.”

“ _I haven’t expected nothing else,”_ they all could hear how Smith drank from something. “ _I presume, you want to know more.”_

“Yes,” it was Randall who now took over. “I am Mister Brown, Head of News.”

“ _I know who you are, Mister Brown, I know all your names and I think you all know, that when I know you, those people know your names and positions too._ ”

“We experienced that already first hand,” Randall explained. “Those people you are talking about, who are they?”

“ _I can’t give you all the names, that would be impossible. But the names Mister Lyon had on his paper are a start. Did you do your research, Mister Lyon?”_

“Yes, I did,” Freddie shifted for a bit and then grabbed his file again. “The new conference centre is build by “Kensington Industries” a building firm that hires different third party firms for different parts of the construction progress. As example, the roof is built by firm A and the basement is built by firm B, but the whole construction planning is made by Kensington Industries. It’s also usual business these days. The owner of Kensington is John Marshall, a man with contacts all around the world, contacts to politicians and business people.

Kensington Industries has built several bigger and smaller projects in the last ten years all around the country. The conference centre is at the moment, the biggest thing, they do. Till there everything seems more or less fine. But when you look at Mister Marshall and where he has been in the last years to visit with his business partners, you’ll find out that Scott, Thomson and Murray - the three politicians on my paper here - have been all or alone in the same place with him. They never travel officially with him, but there seems to be a connection.

It looks like they visit the firms that will build part of a project and make cartel-like agreements. The politicians go back home, vote for Kensington Industries, Kensington Industries then delegates the job toward the other firms, money will flow, dumping wages will be paid, and a good amount of money goes into the pockets of the big four names I just said.”

“ _Aside it is way more complicated,”_ John Smith chuckled at the end of the line. “ _I am very impressed how you brought it onto the point. It’s nothing new, isn’t it? But you can imagine, Kensington Industries can’t go and transfer the money to our honourable statesmen with the reference ‘bribery’, can they?”_

“That would probably a bad idea,” Clara spoke out absently, almost amused over her own sense of humour in this moment. She wiped her small smile from her face, when she caught Danny’s dunning expression.

“ _Oh, a new voice,”_ Smith cheered over the phone. “ _Is this Miss Rowley, or Miss Oswald?”_

Clara looked at Randall and when he nodded she told the man it was her.

“ _I am not sure if I shall congratulate you, Miss Oswald, or should pity you for what you have found out.”_

“We are not going to stop,” was all she could say without being rude and tell the man, he could spare them his sarcasm.

“ _Of course not, that’s why I gave Mister Lyon this number.”_

“Oh, bugger, can we now get over the pleasantries and just go on with it. What do you really know, Mister Smith — nice name by the way!” Bel lost her temper, already shuffling from one foot to the other since the phone call has started.

“ _Miss Rowley!”_ Smith laughed. “ _You want to go to business, that’s good. So here we go; Your Miss Oswald has plugged at a bundle of information thinking, out would come a little displeasing weed. Well, congratulation, but you tugged at the wrong bundle. You made someone really angry. This is not a small thing. This is not only about a bit of bribery and unfair competition. There is a chance you - even accidental - found the root of all evil here._

“ _This is about power, money, all the usual things. It’s about money laundering. Someone needs this building to be built to wash a lot of money in the end. It’s prestige on one side for the city and the senate people, but it’s also washing money for other affairs. Things happen all over the country, you never will find out about, and people have to be paid, and from somewhere the money has to come._

“ _There is a group taking care of it, this is about threatening people, about killing. If you don’t do what they want, they will take care of you, and you might will vanish in some deep dark basement and later in the sea, never to be found._

“ _This is about shoving money from A to B to C and then to god knows where. Dakar, Russia, Emirates, China. You want to know who is involved - open the book for the members of parliament. This goes so deep into the affairs of the state, that you would be surprised. Wouldn’t wonder me if you find the prime minister on the list,”_ Smith gave them all a deliberate break, to let sink in what he just said.

Danny ruffled his hair, Freddie pulled out his cigarette and Bel looked like she wanted to simply end the phone call and call ‘ _bullshit’_. Clara had a short flashback to the night of her attack, and shuddered, and Randall bit so hard on the inside of his cheeks, that he tasted a bit of blood.

Then Smith went on, “ _You said you not want to stop, fine, do whatever you want. Just remember, this is dangerous, and when you are clever, you let it be. You forget about it. Because a threat is a threat… and a murder is a murder.”_

“When it is so dangerous, why are you telling us this?” Randall pursed his lips, frowning at the phone. How he wished the man was in the room, he hated not seeing peoples faces and their reactions.

“ _I am an alcoholic, Mister Brown. Always have been. I think you know best, what it can do to you,”_ all the faces were now directed at Randall, but he didn’t look up, felt it, but ignored it. “ _My liver hasn’t forgiven me for it. I am a dead man walking. I offer you papers, information, written down, but don’t count on me in a trial. It’s the trial they fear, always remember that. Rumours can be bought away, but a trial makes rumours to facts.”_

“Shit,” it slipped Danny and Randall looked at him. “Sorry... slipped me.”

“It’s an appropriate reaction, I think,” Randall shot him a faint smile. “I assume, I can’t call you back.”

“No. If you want those papers, you’ll be at the spot Mister Lyon first met me. Today, 6pm. Don’t be late,” with that he hung up.

“Wait-!” Bel stepped forward as if she could prevent something with it. “Damn it!”

Randall took his phone from the table, and erased the number they had dialled from his phone history, and then shoved it back into the inside of his pocket.

Now there was a silence in the room, and four faces were directed again on Randall, who was deep in thought. He was the Head of News, he was the person who would decide if they would do it or not. Freddie might would be the only one, who was brave enough to do it without his permission, but he was not a stupid boy anymore. Having backup from the others was everything in this case, a case that obviously was too big, too dangerous for them.

He glanced around, and considered them all, his eyes wandering from one face to the other. First to Bel, who was raging inside, about Freddie’s secrets, about this John Smith, about the facts that bad things were happening and that people needed to suffer because of greedy ones. She would be with him, would go the way, he knew. She would hate every second of it and would make him suffer for it, and also would keep him in track, keep him aware.

Freddie had fire in his eyes, he always had, he never would say no to a story, not even after one had almost killed him. Also he was more mature now, he knew his own responsibility, and was everything but keen on landing in a hospital bed again. He would be the one following Randall’s orders, the one out on the line. Not a leader but a fighter, like Randall was once, so many years ago.

Danny just stood there, merely shaking his head, not quite understanding in what he had gotten into. Randall couldn’t read it, if he was regretting his choices right now, or if he was trying to tell himself, that this it was, what he wanted. He had been in the military, he was familiar with pressure and danger, Randall knew he would deal with it, when he would decide to go the way. Something in his eyes, told him, he would.

And then there was Clara, with worried lines on her forehead, biting her lower lip. She was not sure what to think about it all. So many things had happened in the last three weeks and she couldn’t understand them all. She wouldn’t let go of it because of it, that Randall knew. She would be in it like the others, because she was not only a proper fighter like Freddie, she was also a leader, she was a mix of both, she wouldn’t let them down, and most of all not him.

The danger was, he would put her on the line, like the others, he already had and was not sure if this was the right thing to do. He knew in an instant why he asked himself that question with her and not with the others. He was in love with Clara. The reason why the BBC didn’t allow pairs to work together now had a total different background.

He swallowed, “Freddie. Danny. Could you guys, … go down, to the dinner, get some fresh coffee for us all?” He reached into his pockets and held out some money.

Danny wanted to point out, that they had refilled the machine in the room only yesterday, but Freddie got the hint, “Sure. We bring some sweets too, I think we can all use some. Come on, Danny.”

Bel wondered. She worked long enough with Randall to know, that he wanted Freddie and Danny out of the room, and Clara and her to stay.

Patiently Randall waited till he heard the door at the end of the floor fall shut again, then he turned to the whiteboard looking at the face of John Smith. His left hand started to sort the magnets as he sometimes did into a row. Then, impatiently he started to rub over his mouth and chin with his hand. First gently and then harder with each stroke. Bel anticipated an outbreak of him any second.

Clara picked up on it too, and stepped forward, asking Bel with her eyes, if everything was alright with him, “Randall?”

For a moment he closed his eyes, and then swirled around, glaring at Clara with a stern expression, rising one finger, pointing at her and said, “You are fired!”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys still follow? I hope I soon can deliver Chapter 20, but I haven't written one for it. No backup no nothing from this point on. Also I have a plan, some sort of ;). Leave a comment if you like, tell me what you think.


	20. 20_Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall has fired Clara. Clara will not accept it, and Bel witnesses some interesting revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is not much to say about this chapter. Character development basically.

“What! “ Bel and Clara called out at the same time.

“You can't fire me! “ Clara protested outright, pointing at him before crossing her arms in front of her.

It made Randall hesitate for a moment. She was probably right and he couldn't simply fire her, because usually there were certain procedures before someone gets fired.

On the other side he didn’t care, “I can!” one of his hands came up for empathise. For a moment he was now her supervisor, not liking she gave him a back talk. “You are going to pack your stuff, get home pack what you need and leave London as quick and as far as possible. You do it now, and you do it without objections!”

Bel frowned. She had listened silently sensing there was more to Randall's strange behaviour. And now, after he wanted to tell Clara that she had to leave London, her suspicions rose even more.

She stepped a little to the side, looking at them both, her glances moving between them, and while she observed both their mimic, she waited for one of them to go an.

After no one said anything, she was about to open her mouth to ask what was going on, but Clara interrupted her intend.

“Wait a minute,” she had to admit, he almost had her. For half a second, she was about to huff unnerved, turn around and leave, when realization hit her. “You just fire me, because you think, you can protect me like this, aren’t you? “

Randall looked at Bel, who only leaned back slightly, giving him an expression, which told him, he had to solve this on his own. She was way to curious to see how this would play out in the end.

“Of course, I do!” angrily he shoved his hands into his pockets, turning a bit away from her with a growl expression, only to face her again, again one hand swirling in the air. “Those people made very clear what they will do. You are not safe! I am going to protect you, and if it means, to send you away, to fire you, I’m going to do this.”

Clara thought about an argument she could throw at him, “So you’re going to fire Danny too?”

“What?” Randall couldn’t follow, and knew she was now at the advantage of him. “Why would I do that?”

Bel smirked for a moment, when she understood, what path Clara was going, “So you not going to fire Danny?”

“No!”

“Why not?” Clara asked.

She got him, he knew. Cornered by her argument, he now was only able to go the path of truth, “Because I don’t love him!”

Knowing she would have dropped her coffee mug after hearing this, Bel was glad she hadn’t one yet in hand.

Clara hadn’t expected this answer, and was about to speak out her planned answer, when she stopped herself, staring at him, “What?”

Randall averted his eyes, fully aware what he had admitted, and how his words must have sounded, “I mean, I like him, no offence, but I-”

“Did you just say-?” Bel was about to break out with the truth and Randall not wanted her to say the words, that he wanted to say to Clara since days.

“Yes, I just said, that I don’t love Danny,” he made a step toward Clara.

“What in conclusion... means…,” Clara dropped her arms to her side.

“It means, I love you,” Randall breathed.

The words stole Clara’s thunder in a blink, and Randall could see many emotions flee over her face. There was a surprise twitch with her eyebrows, followed by an uncertain frown and a tremble of her lips, in search for words. She broke the eye contact, gazing into the nothingness of the floor.

“Before you say anything, I remember what you said,” Randall began. “ _Don’t fall in love with me_. _You not will get a drawer_ , and so many other things. And believe me, it was the plan, but that’s how plans work, ey? They never really work out. Those people told me last night, they will take away from me, what means the most to me. ... You. I can’t let that happen. I will do anything to protect you, because yes,” he licked his lips, and then said in a low tone; “I love you.”

“I thought we said…,” Clara was about to forget what they had agreed one. The line had been blurry from the beginning, and where now, with Randall’s words about to wash away.

“You aren’t just an affair for me, Clara. I know, I agreed, but…,” he not wanted to push her, or overwhelm her with words, he usually wasn’t good with, when it came to his private life. Either she saw his honest intentions, his honest feelings, and would accept them, or she would leave him right there, because she wasn’t ready for it. For a relationship with him. A proper one.

“Wait a minute!” Bel stepped forward. “You two are together?”

Randall and Clara never broke eye contact, when they both said, “Sort of.”

“Oh! I knew it!” she clapped her hands together, in an exaggerated gesture. Now she had Clara’s and Randall’s attention, who looked confused at her. “I knew the moment you danced with her! I just thought I was already too drunk. Oh, bloody hell! Have you two gone insane?”

“Well, it some sort of…,” Randall now felt guilty toward his work colleague.

“... happened,” Clara finished for him.

“Since when is this going on?”

“Around three weeks,” Randall explained. “After the attack.”

Bel walked over to a chair, in need to sit down, “Aside, you two contravened against one of the highest policies of this office, you both brought yourself in real danger. Why didn’t you say anything? Clara started this, and you are her boss, and now her… her boyfriend, that’s literally the best pressure point you can give them!”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Randall turned toward her, agitated. “It’s not that easy, Bel!”

Bel looked over to Clara, who seemed was still working on Randall’s confession, “I can see that,” she nodded over to the younger woman.

Swiftly Randall looked at Clara, “Clara?”

“Did you just say you love me?”

Randall nodded fast but merely, “Yes.”

“You know what you are?” she asked all vulnerable. “You are an idiot!”

“I know-”

“-because I love you too!”

“Oh, bloody-” it escaped Bel.

Clara couldn’t believe it, “Hey, I am trying to-”

“Coffee!” Freddie and Danny returned cheerfully with a bunch of coffee cups in a holder and two bags with sweets.

The sight of the others, made them frown in irritation. Bel, sitting on her chair, holding her forehead, Clara, unnerved, as she couldn’t finish what she wanted to say, and Randall all uncomfortable, as now the whole moment was about to dissolute into a farce.

“Okay, what did we miss?” Danny asked first, having his arms full with the bags.

Clara looked at Randall long and hard, before she decided it was time to make a point, “I never thought I am going to do this, in front of all those people, because…,” she stepped up to him, and grabbed his jumper close by his shoulders and collar, and pulled him down, “because it’s what people do in very bad romance novels, but I decided not to care,” and then she kissed him hard.

Freddie turned to Danny, “Is she kissing him, or do I need new contacts?”

“I knew it!” was his only answer.

Randall grabbed Clara by the shoulders, and pushed her gently away, but not letting go of her, looking over to Danny, “Why is everybody knowing about this?”

“Oh, ahm,” Danny shuffled the bags in his arms, “I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Well, I didn’t know, it’s one of those things you know, you knew all the time, after you found out. Does this makes sense?” he looked in blank faces. “Oh, come on, you were talking about him for month. Looking back at it, it was literally the only male name you ever mentioned.”

Clara suppressed a laughter, while watching Randall’s countenance crumble into pieces, “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It absolutely is!” Freddie spoke up, walking up to him, to urge him to take one of the coffee cups, and then turned to Clara, making a happy face, like she just had announced wedding and triplets at once. “I knew, when there was someone cracking the shell of this grumpy old owl, it only could be you.”

Clara blushed, and Bel snorted over Randall, who was slowly losing his faith into his staff. She walked up to him, and patted his arm, “You not going to quit because of embarrassment, are you?”

“There is a good chance, I’ll think about it later,” he only growled and sipped from the cup.

“Talking of quitting,” Clara turned to him, looking at him expectantly. “You aware you fired me, just ten minutes ago?”

“To protect you,” he defended his position, not letting shine, if he would take it back.

“Sending me away, is not protecting me!”

“You fired her?” Freddie gave his wife one of the cakes they had bought. It was clear to him, he had missed out something.

“Next time, someone else it getting coffee, because we clearly missed the highlight of the day,” Danny placed his bag onto the table, searching for one particular sweet he had chosen for himself.

“How else I shall protect you?” Randall asked Clara, trying to shut out the presence of the others.

“Not, with sending me away, Randall!” she stroked a few strands of hair behind her ear, that had fallen in her eyes, while being all emotional.

“She is right,” Bel agreed, trying to calm the waves. “We have to stick around each other. We only can protect each other, when we stay close.”

It was hurtful to admit, for him, that he was only able to protect her, when keeping her in the danger zone. Earlier or later, they would find out where she had gone, and would do something to her, and he would regret her sending away, forever. Either way round, he felt not good with it, “Fine. You are hired again, but you are moving in with me, at least as long as this is going on. No back talk!”

She thought about it for a moment, stepping up to him very close. As she was wearing flats, she had to bend her head way back, to actually see his eyes. With a smirk, she asked, “Do I get a drawer?”

He cracked a firm smile, “No.”

“Oh, your flirting is unbearable!” Bel exhaled, and stepped back to the picture at the white board. “What about those papers?”

“We are going to get them of course,” Randall winked at Clara and then stepped to Bel, turning around to face his team. “I wish I could tell you, that if you not want to participate, you can leave, but I am very sure now, that we are all in too deep already. It’s either we do it or we don’t, and not doing it, not bringing the truth up, should make us all rethink our decision to do this job. So, we are doing, this, right?”

It was Danny who said it, “Right,” knowing it was a stupid idea. The right one, but a stupid one.

“I have to get my car, for later” Freddie then said. “We came here in a cab.”

Randall reached into his pockets, “Take my car, it still stands around the corner,” giving him his keys.

“It’s not even eleven, what are we going to do till tonight?” Clara asked, flopping down aside Danny once again.

“We use the time and do some work, am I right?” Bel turned to Randall, who nodded. “Those names, we need some informations about them. Cross check Freddie’s results. Make phone calls, find people you can confirm certain informations. Airlines, cab services, restaurants. Where does those people eat, who is delivering their newspapers, their food, do they have service personal? Those are always good for spilling some information. Just… gather information.”

#

In the afternoon, Clara almost stumbled into the conference room again, rubbing her eyes, “God, I am so tired. And my eyes are burning.” She had followed Danny, who had vanished from their office fifteen minutes ago, and she wondered what made him not come back.

He was laying on the couch, on his back, more or less balancing a hot cup of coffee on his forehead with one hand, barely able to hold up his eyes, “I agree, to all of it you said,” he groaned, “Whatever it was.”

Randall joined them after it, the sleeves of his jumper rolled up, showing his pale arms. His hair was tousled and he looked all different to his usual, strict and orderly appearance. If he wouldn’t have been so tired too, he actually would have given something about it.

He gave Danny a sympathetic look, and then joined Clara by the table, rubbing gently over her back, “We should call it a day with research.”

She leaned her head absently against his shoulder, only humming her agreement. They were all so very tired, but none of them could go home, as they had to wait till Freddie would leave for the handover. Randall wondered where he and Bel were, and he guessed, they had fallen asleep in Bel’s office, and he couldn’t blame them.

“Did you have some success?” he enquired then.

“We have,” Danny said, wiggling his feet so some life would come back into him. “We printed a lot of articles from around the net, that confirm where they all have been in the last few years. A party here, a charity event there, some business meeting on the other side of the world. I think, when we put everything on a wall, and connect it with red strings, it will be mind blowing how much everything is connected between “a party here” and “this new building constructed by Kensington Industries”,” he took a deep breath almost drifting off to sleep. “I hope it’s okay, if we do the red strings tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” Randall smiled, and watch Danny fall asleep. “Come on, you can sleep in my office.”

Clara didn’t say a word, and only followed him to his office, where she lay down the sofa, while Randall pulled out a blanket from his locker. He sat aside her, and made sure she was covered from toe to chin, stroking gently over her cheeks, “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she reached for his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

“And still I am,” he gave her a soft kiss. “Try to sleep a bit.”

“What’s with you? There is enough space, you can lie down with me,” Clara shoved herself to the back of the wall, offering him half of the sofa. He smiled at her.

Indeed he was tired, but his mind was still buzzing, “I join you in a bit.”

He then left and searched in the little refrigerator they had in the tea kitchen for something else but coffee. When he found a can of iced tea, he frowned at the sweet drink, but decided to drink it anyway. As he not wanted to disturb Danny in the other room, he sat down in the floor, where a couple of chairs stood.

Resting his head against the wall, he opened the can, and found satisfaction in the spluttering sound the can made and the few spatters, that landed on his hands. With closed eyes, he placed the can at his lips and let the ice cold liquid run down his throat. It was refreshing and brought ease into his churned up mind.

For a minute or two he was alone, and there was only silence in the floor and the only thing he could hear, was his heart and somewhere a monitor buzzing, then he felt a door go open — carefully, and Bel sat down aside him. He could smell her perfume, and felt her arm against his, but didn’t move or said anything.

“Are you asleep?” she asked hushed.

“Not yet,” he answered, not able to make the effort to open his eyes and to look at her, but he knew Bel was smiling at him, and when he felt her head drop onto his shoulder, he smirked. A month ago, this nearness would have troubled him, would have made him ask, what it was supposed to mean. Now, he let it happen, knew it was a gesture of a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Trust.

Another minute went by, then he felt Bel take the can away, drinking from it, and then giving it back to him, “When this is over, we have to talk.”

Randall almost dropped his head against her head, but decided otherwise, and rested it back against the wall, “I know. I am in trouble, ain’t I?”

He felt her body gently tremble because of a short silent laughter, “Do you love her? I mean, really love her, like you did…?”

“Yes,” he answered without missing a beat. “I love her like I did love Lix, and I think I love her even more.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You already did, Bel.”

“How can you know? After just … a month?”

He thought about her question, unsure how to explain it, without sounding idiotic, “It’s complicated.”

“Try it,” she whispered. “Please.”

“After Lix had left — and I mean the Lix I met all those years ago in Croatia, I fell into some sort of slumber. I began guarding my heart, began building walls around it, and I never thought I would ever feel something again for a woman. I never considered Clara, not in all the world, but... there she was, tearing down those walls within short time,” he needed to laugh about himself and about the story, that sounded so unbelievable corny. “It was like waking up, from a long sleep, looking into this face of hers, suddenly knowing there was more as brooding and mourning. She was the spark, lighting my fire again, and so I seared her into my heart.”

“God, you really do love her,” was everything what Bel could say.

“I do.”

“It’s worth the trouble, then,” Bel rose, kissed him on the cheek, and vanished again into her office. Randall emptied the can, threw it into a paper bin nearby, and then joined Clara on the sofa, who was deep asleep.

Clara would be worth all the trouble in the world, he thought, before falling asleep with her in his arm.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it is out... I am sorry, that the development of the story always pauses when I look closer at Randall/Clara. Nothing really happened here, it's still the same day and stuff. But I promise you a bit more of action in the next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for your reads and the comments!


	21. 21_Nothing ever goes by the plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Freddie to pick up the papers. In the beginning it seems everything goes by the plan, and then Randall receives a telephone call that will change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god, don't expect too much from the Chapter Summary.

“Randall?... Randall, wake up.”

Randall opened his eyes, finding Freddie kneeling in front of him, gently shaking his shoulders. For a second he was disoriented, unsure if it was day or already night. Then he felt Clara stir in his embrace, and he remembered that they had fallen asleep in his office, waiting for the time for Freddie to leave. What seemed now.

Rubbing over his face, he nodded toward him, he would be with him in a moment. Then he gently slipped from Clara’s embrace, made sure she was covered with the blanket and joined Freddie outside.

It was fifteen minutes past five, “I am going on my way now.”

“Good,” was first all Randall could say. “Shall I come with you maybe?”

Freddie shook his head, he had sleepy eyes and a stubble. He looked thinner, Randall thought, and it made him remember they all had no lunch or dinner yet.

“No, I don’t think Smith will appreciate it. The lesser we are, the lesser attention we draw. At least I hope so,” he smiled.

He was not convinced, he was unsure, if all this would go well. He had slept a bit, then Freddie had woken up in panic, thinking what would be if Smith wouldn’t show up, what would they do then?

“We wait here, till you call us, and then we think about what to do,” Randall said, he had the same thought earlier.

If they wouldn’t get hands on the papers, they had nothing, so it was clear to him, that they — whoever they were — would try to interfere. There was a chance, they knew about Freddie going to the pub, also there was a chance that they had all seen too many spy-movies, and everything would go by without any fuss.

Freddie fingered Randall’s car keys out of his pocket, grabbing them tight in his hand, “I call.”

“Take care, Freddie! Don’t go into any risk!” Randall urged. “And I mean that as your Head of News.”

Freddie smirked, nodded and then left.

For a few moments, Randall didn’t know what to do, stood lost in the hallway and then went to the restroom, refreshing himself. The cold water on his face did him good, and helped him to shake off the fatigue.

He got joined by Danny, who looked rather rumbled, and did the same as Randall, washing his face, drinking something from the tap, “Is Freddie on his way?”

“Yes, he just left,” Randall told him.

“Shouldn’t we follow him? Give him backup?” it made no sense to Danny, that Randall had sent him on his own. From his point of view — a soldier — this was not good.

“It’s not Afghanistan, Danny.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered. “But I know, it’s better to stick together, and Freddie can look out for his own,” he sighed, and changed the topic, “I’ll go down the diner, to get us something to eat, okay?”

“Good idea, I’ll go wake Bel and Clara. Here,” he gave Danny a bit of money he had and then let the young man go.

Twenty minutes later Danny returned with a couple of plastic boxes, and a bag with soft drinks, placing everything onto the table in the conference room. Bel and Clara had woken up, and had refreshed themselves in the ladies restroom.

Bel didn’t say it, but she was nervous. Her hand fiddled with one of her nails, and her eyes wandered every few minutes over to the clock that hung at the entrance. It was short before six o’clock.

“Bel?” Clara peered at her over the table. “I am sure he will be fine.”

“Yes, he will,” absently she reached for one of the boxes. “It’s just…”

“I know,” Clara stood up and sat aside her. “I am sure he will call soon, telling us, that everything is fine. With him and the papers.”

“Sometimes I wish, he wouldn’t do that job anymore, or at least work somewhere quiet. A dull little paper, like the one they do every week for the lottery.”

Clara snorted over it, knowing the paper, as she usually saw it displayed when she went to a little store around the corner to get her newspaper, “It would make him insufferable, wouldn't it?”

Bel smiled, nodding, “Indeed. Also, you can’t get killed over an article about ‘ _the winner of the month’_ , can you?”

“I don’t think so,” she opened one of the soft drinks, and filled a glass for Bel and herself. “Here, try to eat something.”

“Thank you,” for a while Bel chewed on some chips, forgetting the clock at least for a bit. “I am sorry by the way, that I snapped at you the other day. About “it’s something the grown ups are talking about”. I didn’t meant to be a bitch.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Clara waved. “Forgiven and forgotten.”

After that, they all fell in silence, waiting for Freddie’s call, and when Randall’s phone finally rang at 6:15 they all jumped up from their seats.

“It’s Freddie,” Randall looked at the display and answered. “Freddie?”

“ _Yes, I am okay. I have the papers.”_

“And Smith?”

“ _He wasn’t there, but he left two packages with my name on it. The bartender gave it to me,”_ Freddie explained. “ _I am just sitting outside in the car. I took a peek, and I think those papers are the jackpot.”_

“Good, that sounds very good,” Randall nodded toward the others, signalling everything was fine. “Then come back now.”

“ _No!”_ Freddie quickly said. “ _Listen, I can’t explain it, but I think… let’s meet tomorrow, there is something I have to do. I can’t say more. Trust me, just trust me.”_

“I trust you,” Randall said, turning his back on the others, not wanting Bel to see his concerned face.

“ _We meet tomorrow in the office again, around nine or ten, yes? And you have to do me a favour, make Bel stay with Danny, I know he has a spare room. She can’t stay at our place alone.”_

“Where will you be?” the answer was just silence, and Randall understood. “I’ll make her stay with Danny.”

“What?” Bel circled Randall wanting him to give her the phone, but he resisted, holding up a hand.

“ _Put me on speaker please,”_ and Randall did it. “ _I am fine, darling, don’t worry. I am fine, but you have to trust me. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”_

Freddie hung up, and the line went silent.

“What is he up to?” Bel glared at Randall, as if he knew more.

“Bel, he said, we shall trust him, and that’s what we are going to do. He has his reasons, he always had. And I believe, when he says he is fine, he. is. fine.”

Bel wanted to say something else, even if it was only good for getting off some tensions, but a soft touch on her arm by Clara made her retreat.

“Danny, Freddie says, you have a spare room,” Randall turned to him. “Can Bel stay over for the night?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“I can stay at my own place,” Bel interrupted.

“I know you can, but we have to stay close to each other, wasn’t it that what you said?” Randall remembered her. “Stay with Danny. Clara stays with me, so no one is alone tonight. Just do it okay? And tomorrow we meet again here. Between nine and ten.”

Bel agreed, reluctant, but went with Danny after they had all eaten.

##

Randall had slept restless, aside his usual habit he had let his phone lay aside his bed and had checked several times, when he woke up, in case anything had happened. Or in case Freddie had tried to reach out to him. The display was always empty. No message, no call, and he hoped it was a good sign.

“I am sure he is alright, he is a clever guy,” Clara curled along side him, hoping her words would give him some rest.

“I know,” he smiled, her features in the dark merely visible to him. “Clara?”

“Mh?”

“Do you think, it’s strange, that I … I told you I love you, after, not even a month?” there was concern in his voice, as if he was afraid, she would come to him in a few days, telling him exactly this. That it was impossible to love someone after a few weeks, and that he must be out of his mind, and they better should go separate ways again, because it couldn’t be true at all.

“A few years ago, I was in a relationship, for quite a bit,” Clara begun slowly, resting her head on his chest, her hand entangling with his. “He told me one day he loved me, after we had been together for almost a year. One could say, that’s a time span, someone could know if it’s true or not, and so I believed him. I loved him too, and what happened was, that he left me one month later. Without a word, just like that. It’s not about when you say it, it’s about meaning it. And I think you mean it.”

“I do, my Clara,” he reached for her and pulled her into a slow kiss, and Clara believed him. Felt his honesty, felt his love with every touch and kiss, every word he whispered.

She thought he was so utterly romantic sometimes, it would have been almost embarrassing with someone else. With him it was so natural — she wasn’t the all too romantic type, but she loved his whispered confessions into her ear, while he made love to her.

The thought of him, reading a book or poetry to her, was thrilling and she felt like a little, stupid girl for it, but then Randall kissed her hard and demanding, showing her, that he was not only this soft, vulnerable person, but also full of need and passion.

##

The next day, they all gathered together in the office, Danny as usual had taken care off getting some croissants and sandwiches. He never forgot about his military time, “You don’t go into a fight with an empty stomach, people! Would be bad for the team moral.”

At 9:30 Freddie finally came in, greeted by his wife, who threw herself into his arms, kissing him and shouting at him at the same time. Something only Bel could do.

“I am okay!” he explained, while she poked him in the chest, telling him, the next time he wasn’t allowed to go alone. “Everything went by the plan.”

“What have you done last night? Where have you been? I was worried sick!” Bel hadn’t slept much, and in the end, she and Danny had watched some old western film, and he had sighed relieved when he had realized she had fallen asleep at some point.

“I had to do something. Backup plan, okay,” Freddie explained, shoving one of the sandwiches into his mouth, almost at once. He looked rumbled, and it seemed as he hadn’t slept much either, and had only lived of coffee and crackers since yesterday.

“Where are the papers?” Randall asked, eager to finally take a look.

“Still in the car. Two boxes.”

“Danny and I can get them,” Clara jumped up, holding out her hand to Freddie for the keys. It was a chance to do something, at least a little bit, all the waiting and worrying was exhausting.

Freddie handed the keys over, “I have parked at Randall’s usual spot, round the corner.”

“Good, we’ll be back in a bit,” Clara smiled, and Danny and her left toward the elevator.

#

“I hope it’s worth something what is in the boxes,” Danny leaned against the side of the lift, waiting for it to arrive. “If not… I don’t even know what we should do then.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, I am sure it’s not just useless, Freddie said he had taken a look already. I think we can believe him,” Clara pressed the button again. “God, why does this thing always need forever?”

“I wonder if he is still alive,” Danny then said. “Smith. He wasn’t there… so…”

Clara looked at him in horror, “Do you think that? No, I think he has left the country. Maybe he already had, when we had called. Knowing we would, he had made sure, the boxes where there already.”

“Possible.”

“Oh, damn, let’s take the stairs!” Clara snapped at the closed doors, and walked over to the staircase. “Bloody lift!”

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” Danny chuckled following her.

“It’s not mine,” she grinned and hopped down the stairs.

#

Randall paced up and down in the room, while Freddie and Bel still quarrelled over the last 24 hours.

“Will you ever tell us, what your backup plan was, or?” Bel asked.

“Of course I will, I even would,” Freddie protested. “But you are talking all the time.”

“Excuse me!”

For a moment Randall feared the pair would strangle each other, and he was about to step in, when his phone rang. It made Freddie and Bel stop and look at him.

“Unknown number,” he looked at the display at first, then to Bel and Freddie. “Hello?”

There was a silent for a bit and Randall asked who was calling, “Hello?”

“ _Mister Brown.”_

“Who is this?”

“ _I think you know, who this is, Mister Brown.”_

Randall swallowed, putting the phone on speaker, but motioning to the others, to keep quiet.

“What do you want?”

“ _You know what we wanted, but .... “_

“What?”

There was a faint smile over the line to hear, “ _I like your car, Mister Brown. Old Mercedes. Nice colour. A classic, isn’t it?”_

Randall frowned, feeling his heartbeat accelerate.

“ _You should have played along, Mister Brown,”_ the voice continued. Calm and staid. Then a sigh was audible. “ _Sad about the car. I really liked it.”_ Then the call ended.

“What?” Bel frowned, looking at Freddie.

Randall instead snapped into action, “Something is with the car! Try to call Clara and Danny!” Randall threw over his phone to Freddie, and ran toward the lift. “Quick!”

In an impulse Randall pressed the open button for the elevator, only to realize it was a stupid thing to do, and paced over to the door for the staircase, and hurried as fast as possible down the floors.

#

“Look, it’s even a bit sunny,” pointed to the sky, while she and Danny strode toward Randall’s car.

“The forecast says, it will get a little warmer the next few days,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, making small talk with her.

#

“Can you reach them?” Bel stood nervous aside Freddie, watching him press the phone to his ear. Somewhere in the room a phone rang. It was Clara’s phone in her purse. “Try Danny!” Bel urged, hoping soldier man had his phone on him.

As Freddie didn’t know if Randall had him as Danny or Pink or god knows in his contacts, he needed way too long, to fumble the number onto the display. Bel run over to another office, trying if she could see something when looking out of the window.

Randall reached the exit door for the staircase out of breath and with a painful sting in his side. He was everything but used to such exercise.

“Clara!” he yelled, but they both weren’t anywhere to be seen in the lobby. He sprung into a sprint again, almost colliding with a couple that just entered the building.

#

Clara held up Randall’s car keys and wanted to use the automatic door opener, that wasn’t there of course, “Oh, I forgot. It’s antic,” she giggled over Danny’s scrutinizing looks.

“It’s a classic, Clara! I wish I had a car like this,” Danny held out his hands as if to present something. “I bet there are only a handful left in the UK.”

“Boys and cars,” she shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

“You got a motorbike,” he reminded her.

“That’s something different,” she tried to push the main key into the lock of the trunk. “God, how many keys one needs for this car. I bet, the small one here is for the glove compartment.”

#

“Freddie?”

“It’s ringing, but he is not answering!” he wandered around in the room and then walked over to Danny’s office, trying to figure out if he could hear his phone somewhere. “It’s probably on silence.”

When he reached the mailbox after a few rings, he hung up and retried again.

#

Danny watched Clara fumble with the key, suddenly feeling his phone vibrate. He pulled it out, seeing Randall’s name, “That’s strange. Randall?”

“Get away from the car!” Freddie yelled into the phone, and at the same time Randall shot around the corner, waving at them, and yelling the same.

Danny’s eyes sprung to Clara’s hand finally being able to push the key into the lock. In instinct he grabbed Clara by the arm and pulled her away, who didn’t know what was happening, “Hey! Wait!”

“Get away from the car!” Randall reached them and reached for Clara’s hand.

“What’s wrong? The papers!” she almost had pulled herself free, if Randall hadn’t reckoned it. “What is going on?”

“It’s-”

Then the car went up in a big, ear-defeating explosion. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I have the feeling I have to pause a bit with this story. I feel drained by it and fear I will ruin the story more as it is ruined already. But maybe you'll find another chapter in a week, I can't say. 
> 
> Thanks, for following the story, aside it lack in quality.


	22. 22_You are everything to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The car exploded. What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all; THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH for your moral support and your comments about my last chapter, where I voiced my concerns and my insecurities about this story. I haven't answered any comments there as I knew I would write this. It really helped and you guys are right I am to critical and shouldn't worry too much. I simply compare this fic with other fics (mostly Collide) forgetting that I said myself I will write something else, so it can't be compared. THANKS! It was SO SO important!
> 
> So have a new chapter, I hope you enjoy it.

The blast of the explosion brought them all three to their knees. Luckily they had been far away enough to not get seriously hurt or hit by any flying around parts from the car.

Clara had to let go of Randall’s hand, when the blast hit her, urging her downwards, so she would not fall flat on her face. The moment one of her knees hit the ground hard, she had a quick realization, that she was the only one in this trio, who never had experienced or had witnessed anything like that.

She couldn’t tell why she suddenly had that thought, she had read some articles about people who had been in a war or a war-like situation, and they said, some people fall into a rigidity, being motionless for a moment. Some of them, after a few moments, jump into action, and some don’t. It was ridiculous to admit, but she always had wondered, what she would be like, without hoping ever to find out. 

Her mind still working, the pain in her knee keeping her body busy, pushing any numb feelings aside, Clara looked first to Randall, then to Danny. Both men, looked rather startled, but seemed to be okay. Clara couldn’t tell how many seconds had passed already, since they had all fallen over, but she could see no one of them seemed about to make a move. So, in an instinct she reached over to Randall first, as he was closer, grabbing his hand, and then over to Danny, grabbing his too, “We have to go!”

Randall’s hand bewared him to hit the ground with his upper body. The explosion was harsh, loud and he felt heat by his back. It was strange, nothing new, but strange, because his body recognized the situation, recalled it. Even it must been over 30 years now since he had been last in such danger.

The moment he felt the blast press him forward, and he felt Clara’s hand slip out of his, he had left London. The street in front of him had been gone, and he was back on a dirty, stony road somewhere in Croatia, behind a car. The scene was so clear to him, as if it had happened only the day before.

With a cameraman he was about to make a short film about abandoned buildings, and suddenly they had ended up in some ambush. A fire fight between UN-Soldiers and rebels. An explosion. It had happened somewhere in the first two weeks of his engagement in Croatia. It had been the first real trouble he had ended up in, followed by many more. Only a week later he would meet Lix the first time.

He had lain behind the car on his back, holding his head as they had left the helmets in the car, and yelled to his cameraman ‘ _what the hell was going on’._

When he felt Clara’s hand slip back into his, he was back again. He turned his head, watching her mouth move, but didn’t hear anything. Just a loud, annoying wheezing. He was also familiar with that. It would go away - maybe. In this moment, it didn’t matter, he could read the words from her lips.

Tightening his grip, he got back on his feet, followed by Danny, and they both pulled Clara up.

The heat prickled at the back of Danny’s neck, and he urged himself not to close his eyes while he fell, and even after it, he tried to keep them open. His military training had done really good work. His head, his body, and everything there was sprang immediately into military mode.

Glancing around, he knew he had to find the radio guy that was usually at his side. Where was he now? He needed him. Now! An ambush, and he had to report it to the Group Captain back in the camp.

His next thought was checking for any injured persons, and where the medic was. The medic was important, so where was he now, and why was he alone?

Something was not right, he knew, but Danny couldn’t tell what. It was too cold, for Afghanistan for this time of the year, and something was wrong with the clothes he wore. There was no weight on his body. His left hand landed on his chest. His ballistic vest was missing.

And then he felt Clara’s hand in his, and his head finally sent out the signal, that he was in London, not in Afghanistan. That there was no one to inform about an ambush, and that it seemed no one was injured. A slight relief washed over him, before he heard Clara’s words, and dutiful he jumped up, short after Randall, pulling Clara with him.

They reached the main entry, seeming the only one going in while a lot of people run outside to see what had happened.

Clara thought about telling them not to go, but people wouldn’t listen to her, so she didn’t make any effort to stop them. She also guessed, someone would call the police and the fire brigade, surely someone already had. In the distance she could hear sirens.

To their surprise the lift was already waiting for them, and so they stumbled in, and Danny pressed the button for their floor. No one said anything, they just looked at each other, checking if they all were safe and no one really hurt.

In the silence of the cabin, the wheezing sound in his head became louder and Randall rubbed one of his ears, knowing it would bring nothing. Catching a frown of Clara, he gave her a short smile, before reaching out to her, cupping her cheek, to make sure she was okay. She nodded. Then the door went open, and they were awaited by Freddie and Bel, reaching out to them.

“Are you all okay?” Bel grabbed for Danny, and he nodded, breathing a yes.

“I get some water!” Freddie called out and raced into the bathroom with a pitcher, and brought it quickly into the conference room, giving everybody a glass of water. And they all drank it to get away the taste of dust, dirt and firework from their tongues.

Danny pulled out a chair with a shaking hand, falling down onto the seat, “Remind me, it’s totally okay to get breakfast while “ _highlights of the day”_ are happening. This was rather disturbing.”

“For a second I thought …,” Bel couldn’t speak it out, and stepped to Randall, urging him down onto the sofa. He looked quite disoriented, and she feared he was in shock. “Are you okay?”

Randall frowned at her, then looked into the other faces, searching for clues of what to answer. He knew he couldn’t play the game too long, so he decided to give in, “What?” he asked way too loud, and they all got suspicious immediately.

“Randall?” Clara sat aside him, brushing over his face.

“I…,” he pointed at himself, squinting. He thought some of his hearing had come back already, but it probably was only wishfulness. “I can’t hear you.”

Clara’s eyes widened in shock. Her instinct let her call out to Danny, who quickly jumped up, kneeling in front of Randall. He knew of course he couldn’t help him, but he knew, touching Randall, checking for his ears, even he wouldn’t see anything would calm the others in the room. Randall knew that too and let him proceed with only a slight huff.

“I am fine,” he said, seeing Danny’s mouth move.

“He has an acoustic shock,” Danny explained. “Have seen it often in the field. We might should bring him into a hospital. They know what to do.”

“I am okay!” Randall called out loud, hearing himself at least a bit.

“No, you are not!” Clara mouthed for him, underlining her words with erratic gestures. “You! Me! Hospital!”

“No!” Randall jumped up holding up one finger, as if he wasn’t the only one who was not able to hear anything. “The papers! The… we have to…,” he didn’t know what to do. Everything was lost now. The papers burning away with his car, everything they had risked so far, useless.

“Randall-,” Freddie tried to talk with him, but Randall wanted to shut him up with a gesture of his hand.

“-They’re winning!” he exhaled, his chin lowered till it almost touched his chest. Only now, he realized how serious everything had been so far. That Clara could have been killed the night she had been attacked, that she could have been killed just twenty minutes ago. Danny too. How had he should have lived with it?

They - those people - had cornered them, and obviously were able to do anything to them. Not afraid to kill one of his people or all of them in the end. He felt Clara’s hand on his, a soft warm touch and he turned to her, “You could have died.”

“I didn’t,” she shook her head. “And they are not winning, we will not let it happen.”

Randall frowned, he only could read the word winning from her lips, as answer she squeezed his hand gently, nodding again.

Freddie stepped forward, reaching into the pocket of his trousers, “She is right,” he smiled at Randall and the others. “They are not winning.”

Bel huffed, “Tell that Randall’s precious car, in it papers turning into ash.”

“No!” Freddie grinned. “That’s what I am trying to tell you since we have arrived. What do you guys think I have done last night? Watching reruns of Doctor Who or something?”

Randall watched Freddie speak in high concentration, but aside hearing some low tones of his voice, the only thing - for some odd reason - he could only read two words from his lips, “Is he talking about Doctor Who? Why?” he turned to Clara whispering to her, and she smiled amused.

“Jesus, Freddie,” Danny burst out. “What the hell did you do? Any more of this anticipation and I am dying at age 33, I swear to god!”

Freddie pulled out a little something, holding it up, with a wide grin “I made flippin’ copies — all night!”

Randall reached out, grabbing his wrist, bringing the item closer, “Is it what I think it is?”

Freddie nodded. A USB flash drive. “Remember Igor, the guy I sometimes work with, who looks like a brick wall? He helped me. I stayed at his place. The information is stored on this one, and into three different clouds in the web. I’d say, you, Clara, bring Randall to the hospital, and I brief the rest of you, okay?”

“What did he say?” Randall asked loud, and Clara grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. She thought about taking a cab to the hospital but decided on public transport as it was probably saver.

Freddie, Bel and Danny stayed behind, listening to Freddie who showed them where to find the data. They couldn’t kill them all. They also stayed behind to talk to the police, who quickly found out whose car had been blown into the air.

“Any idea, why someone would blow off Mister Brown’s car?” the middle aged police officer in civilian clothes asked, looking up every one of them with a certain regard. A few minutes earlier he had introduced himself as Inspector Brookstreet.

Danny rubbed with one finger around the tabletop, “Someone? Maybe there was a … a malfunction?”

The Officer cocked an eyebrow at him, “Mister Pink, are you going to tell me that Mister Brown might has missed an inspection on his car, and that’s why it suddenly out of thin air exploded. In the middle of the street?”

Bel swayed with her head from left to the right, “It was a pretty old car.”

“Oh, bugger!” Brookstreet called out. “Do you think I am stupid?”

“No, Officer,” Freddie lowered his eyes. They walked a thin line, and he knew they couldn’t simply tell the man what had happened. It was complicated enough, it was also stupid not to do so, but for the moment they would all keep quiet.

And that the Inspector seem to know, as he not pushed any further. He simply closed the little notebook he had in his hands, “Shall I tell you what I think, and what I know?”

Bel raised a hand, he probably would so or so.

“Three weeks ago, there was an attack on a Miss Oswald, who works here as an Intern, as far as I know,” Brookstreet shoved his hands into his coat, looking around the room.

“Yes, she is with Mister Brown in the hospital,” Danny told him.

“I usually don’t work cases like this, but my speciality is … organised crime, and I am always getting curious, when there are people from the media are involved,” he gave them a short smile that didn’t reach his eyes, before slowly walking around the room, to do little observations.

Danny, Bel and Freddie exchanged looks, unsure what the man was playing. “Because aside the police, the media is a big enemy for those people. And first I thought it was nothing, because I read your magazine, and you had nothing in it, I would consider a problem for those people. But then,” he swiftly turned around on his heels, “a car goes off in the middle of London, across the street of your office. And then I find out it is the car of the Head of News.”

“Coincidence? Could be,” Freddie suggested with a smirk.

“Coincidence?” Brookstreet asked with a laughter. “You know what they say, don’t you?”

As so often it was Bel who lost her temper, “Oh, what do they say, Inspector?”

“The universe is rarely that lazy, Miss Rowley,” his words made them all look away. As answer the Inspector reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a little card. “This is my number, if there is anything you might find important to tell me, please do. Aside that, Scotland Yard will investigate this case further. Don’t leave town, and tell Mister Brown we want to talk to him about his car too,” he was about to go, but turned around one last time. “What ever you are playing, be save.”

“Shit,” Danny uttered when the Inspector had left them. “We are knee deep in it, and now tell me why none of us asked the Inspector to help us?”

“Because we are utterly stupid,” Bel shrugged, obviously having asked herself the same all the time Brookstreet had been in the room.

“We all know why,” Freddie only said, “now let's get started with the scanned papers,” and went to get himself some water before opening a laptop to read through the papers with the others.

Clara and Randall instead had to wait for an hour till a Doctor came to look at Randall and his loss of hearing. As from Danny predicted he had suffered an acoustic shock, and aside some pills Randall had to get a special infusion, that helped his ears to recover.

After that Clara took him home to her apartment, the warning of the Doctor in her ears, that Randall needed rest and silence. As the infusion and the pills had made him tired and drowsy she was able to push him into the bed without resistance and he fell asleep quickly.

As she wasn’t tired at all, she gave Freddie a call and told him about Randall and that the Doctor said it would take a few weeks till his hearing would be back at 100%, also he might would have losses in that area for the rest of his life. He had to go back to the hospital the other day to get another infusion and then they only could wait, aside that he was fine.

Freddie told her about the Inspector and that they were about to read through the papers, and told her to send over Danny to give her access to the data, as he not wanted to tell her over the phone.

“Do you need anything?” Danny asked her, after showing her how to access the cloud with the informations. They also had established a little chat program to share thoughts.

“No, I am fine. Randall is deep asleep and the fridge is full, more or less,” Clara had snuggled into one of Randall’s jumpers for comfort he had stored at her place, now padding Danny’s arm. “And if anything is I’ll reach out for you guys. I keep the program open. I have to eat something, and then I will help you sort the papers. What’s with you? Will you stay alone tonight? You can-”

“-No, I am fine. Really, I called a friend, and I stay there,” Danny reassured her, and then after a long sigh, “I can’t believe they did that. We could have died. I went to Afghanistan, sure I would come back, because that is what you think when you go into combat, but I also knew there was a chance that … I not come back. One can expect to die in Afghanistan but not in London, not like that! It is so sickening.”

“I know, well I guess I know,” Clara went to make some tea behind the kitchen counter. “I am sure we find out who this is, and we will talk to the police, but for now, we all know Freddie is right. If we talk now to the police there will be so much fuss and attention. For the moment we can do as if we are defeated and know nothing. We play the scared rabbit, while digging our holes for the enemy.”

Danny smirked, “Sure you never had military tactic training?”

She joined him in his laughter, “Nah, I like spy movies. Does this qualify?”

“Be safe, okay. And don’t worry about Randall, the recovery rate is high for such injury. Just make sure he gets the second infusion tomorrow,” Danny gave Clara a hug, before he walked to the door. “See you tomorrow.”

A few hours later Randall woke up in the middle of the night, finding the bed aside him empty, and so he wandered into the living room, only wearing sock, underwear and a shirt. Clara must have undress him before she had ‘thrown’ him into the bed.

He glanced at the watch on the microwave, it was three in the morning, and he found Clara on the couch, the laptop in her lap, sleeping. He smirked over the picture, she must have fallen asleep while reading over the papers.

Carefully he knelt down aside her and took the laptop from her, rubbing her shoulders, “Clara?”

In relieve he found, that he could hear her moan, faded but at least.

“What is it? Where…,” Clara opened her eyes and found Randall smiling at her. “Hey! What time is it?”

Her voice was hard to understand, but he caught the word ‘time’, “It’s three morning, love.”

Clara’s eyes widened, when she realized he had understood her, “Your hearing!”

“It’s better, but… not perfect. I have to train my lip reading,” he took her hand in his. “Come on, come to bed. We finish those papers tomorrow.”

Nodding, she took the laptop and placed it back onto the table, checking in the program for the others. The last message had been by Danny, three hours ago, telling the others, he would go to bed. As there was no answer, it seemed Bel and Freddie had fallen asleep before. She smiled, and turned to Randall who waited for her by the door. It made her smile even more, as he looked like a lanky, confused traveller, just wearing some boxers, his legs white as a sheet, his curls having their own life and his face still having an impression of the pillow on it.

“What?” he asked, guessing it was of his appearance.

“Nothing,” she smiled wide, and nodded toward him, telling him to go to bed, she would come now. When he turned his back on her, she added, “Just thought you are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Mh?” Randall turned around once again, rubbing his ears. “What did you say?”

She walked over, went on her tiptoes, and kissed him gently, “I said I love you.”

“I know,” he smiled at her, entangling his fingers with her hair. “I can see it in your eyes, those beautiful, eyes. Can I tell you something? Even it is very cliché?”

“You can tell me everything,” Clara said, laughing softly. And she had to repeat it a bit louder, as he didn’t hear her.

“I know how it will sound, but… I think you are the best thing that ever has happened to me,” and because he was afraid what her answer would be, Randall pulled Clara into kiss and then into a hug, bending slightly to lift her of the ground to carry her to the bed, where they fell asleep in a warm embrace.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when the next chapter will come. Probably next week. Thanks for the support and your comments! You are all the best!


	23. 23_The Newspaper Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall and Clara still working out their relationship, and he has to decide what to do with the informations they now have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a chapter about relationship progress between R and C, and also it pushes the matter about the threats the magazine is involved further.

In the morning Randall awoke, finding Clara’s head resting on his chest, talking in her sleep. He couldn’t understand a word, it seemed gibberish, and as it seemed not to be a nightmare he let her. His hand trailed over her shoulder, and her back under her shirt, circling her skin, enjoying her warmth against his body and her soft murmurs.

A woman in his arms, in love with him and he with her, he had missed this feeling all too long. He had missed this kind of trust and spirit, being at ease while the world turned hectically around them. With Clara he was able to forget all the trouble he had went through and through what they went at the moment.

Yes, she was the best that had ever happened to him, and when he listened into himself, he knew he loved her dearly. Madly even. He had looked so long, without any success, and then, when he had made his peace with the fact, to end up alone, she took him home and robbed him off his clear mind. Let alone his heart.

Clara stirred slowly awake, while he mused over their relationship, “I dreamed I was flying a plane,” drowsy eyes peeked at him with a soft smile.

“What kind of plane?” Randall smirked over her appearance, brushing gently some hair out of her face.

“How shall I know?” she asked as if he had asked her something indecent. “The only thing I know was, that I crashed it!”

“Oh,” he bit the inside of his cheeks so he wouldn’t laugh out loud. “That bothered you?”

“Hell, of course it did!” she came up onto one of her elbows, looking challenging at him. “Clara Oswald does not crash a plane.”

“Control freak,” he grinned and she reached for the pillow to hit him with it onto his chest.

“I see your hearing is better?” she giggled after he had wrestled her down so he could kiss her till they both were out of breath.

“The wheezing is still there, and I hear you double,” he told her, “but I think I am on a good way.”

“We have to go to the hospital later,” she fell down back onto his chest, not ready to stand up. She shoved her hand under his shirt, connecting with his warm body, smiling over it. She could stay like this the rest of the day, she thought. “What were you musing about?”

The question got to him unexpected, “M-musing?”

“Yeah,” she didn’t look at him, knowing it would help him to open up to her, “you had your musing-face on. Remember, this part between your eyes.”

He chuckled softly, “I really have to work on this. I’m not sure if I can accept that you read me like an open book.”

She laughed and squeezed gently some skin by his waist, “So you did muse.”

“Yes, I did,” he needed to collect some more courage before answering her, and he was glad Clara didn’t interrupt him, just kept laying there, fondling with her hand over his stomach. “About… us.”

“And?” she asked after he didn’t went on in his elaborations. At the same time she feared he had developed doubt over night, but Clara was able to push her own doubts away and stay still. Also her hand stopped stroking and Randall noticed.

“I meant what I said. Yesterday, about you, being the best that has ever happened to me in a very long time,” he reached for her, making her face him. “When this story is through, I would like to talk with you about us, and…,” he not wanted to say it, but his head just went the way, and he only could follow, “The higher management will insist on a separation of us. I am the Head of News, I am in charge for everything about the magazine, but it doesn’t mean I can bent the rules in other parts.”

“I told you, I don’t want a contract, I’ll finish my year and then leave,” Clara said, not quite sure what he wanted to say and hear from her. “I can find a good job in town. I am sure the Head of News will write me a good recommendation letter?”

“I am sure he will,” he laughed, “but the thing is, there is a chance, you will not be able to finish your year.”

That made her sit up, “What? Do you think they will fire me?”

“No! I won’t let that happen! And Bel will be on my side, but I am your supervisor, and we are now in a relationship, people know about. I know Danny is not that kind of person, but if he would want, he could make complains. About I favouring you, even if it is not true, the management will have problems with it.”

Clara looked down into her lap. Randall was right, and she knew she hadn’t thought so far, when they had started their little affair. There had been no reason for it.

The problem was, if she couldn’t finish her year, she would have to restart somewhere else, and she couldn’t tell if she was able too. It was wasted time and also a question of money.

Randall read her concerns in her eyes and face, “Clara, look at me. I am not going to let that happen. You will finish your year.”

“What if they insist on our separation? I am not stupid, Randall,” she reached for his jumper, slipping it over. “In the end it will be you or me. The Head of News or the stupid intern. Wanna bet who they going to send away?”

Huffing, he realised he had made a mistake to bring up his thoughts. He watched her, seeing how she imagined her future break apart. Sure, she didn’t give him the fault, she never would do that. Biting his lips, he thought about what to say, knowing he could offer her his moral and financial support. Asking her to move in, to save the rent, what wouldn’t be his main motivation for it. He was able to find her another position, but she would need to restart her year as intern before finding a proper job as journalist. Aside she would hate it to be dependent on him.

In the end, there was only one thing he could offer, and he was willing to make such sacrifice, “If they make us to choose, I… I’m going to resign.”

Clara turned with a shocked expression toward him, then she hopped out of the bed, starting a steady pace in front of it, “Have you lost your senses?”

“Not, that I know.”

She was unable to say more, and everything that came out of her mouth was a wild stutter.

Randall followed her with his eyes, almost till he felt dizzy, then he jumped out of the bed too, and stepped into her way, “Where is the problem?”

“I can’t let you do that!”

“Why not? Do you feel then, you owe me something? It’s not like that,” he went and put his trousers on. “To be honest, I thought about retreating from the job earlier, before you.”

“Oh, you just say that now, to make me feel better!” she pointed at him.

“Yes, I do,” he smiled guiltily at her, hoping she would understand his motivations. “Really, Clara, I will find another job, and also, I have saved some money, I don’t need the job right now. Also, it’s the worst case scenario,” he huffed. “The thing is, I not wanted to talk with you about me quitting my job, I wanted to ask you if you can imagine a future with me, aside the work.”

Clara stopped her pace, and looked with a deep frown on her forehead up to him. Randall leaned slightly back.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he turned away from her. He felt like he was about to propose or something, what was not his intention. “I know we said we are in a relationship now, and we spent already a lot time together, but… listen I am rubbish with relationships. I don’t know how to do it,” he turned around again. “What I want to say is, I want to have a decent, proper relationship dinner with you, in a fancy restaurant, where everybody can see us. I want to invite you to spend a weekend with me, in Scotland or god knows where, just you and me, a vacation. And I feel stupid to say it, because this is just three weeks old, but god, I have the feeling I wasted so much time already, and I just want to do it with you. I want to know you better, and want you to know me better. Not later, now,” he smiled almost sad at her, and it made Clara’s heart melt away.

Stepping up to him, she placed her hand on his cheek, “I’d love to do it. Right away.”

“Yes?” he let out a relieved sigh. “You not feel it’s a rash decision? I not want to push you. I am afraid I do, but there is this feeling in me, that …”

“You not want to waste any more time,” Clara placed her hands on his chest. “I understand you, completely. And I am glad you said it, because I never would have come to you with it myself. Maybe we can take some off time after all this is done, whenever it is done.”

“I am so in love with you,” he breathed, blushing over his own words. “Where have you been all my life?”

Clara’s smile turned into a mischievous grin, “Mh, let’s see, while you spent time in Croatia I spent time in kindergarten.”

Randall cracked a smile, closing his eyes for a moment, “You are impossible. Are you really alright with it? Me being so old. People will say you are my daughter.”

“They will probably say, I am your granddaughter,” she teased and succeeded, as his face went all in protest mode. “I don’t care. We’ll figure it out. Everything, I am sure of it. We have dinner, a vacation and … a lot of sex then.”

It was what he loved, that she made him lose his strict manner, hit crack after crack into his walls, and he didn’t care about it anymore.

“In my age, I’d in more for quality instead for quantity, also I am willing to try,” he smirked, “I really would like to take you back to bed right now, but,” he glanced down his watch, “we have to go to the hospital.”

Clara nodded with a smile, not letting him go get dressed without snogging him one last time.

They spent two hours alone in the hospital before Randall got released and they returned to the office. It was a Monday and so everyone was back at work. Everybody had heard about the events from the weekend. A car had exploded and it was a quick spread rumour, that it had been the one of their boss.

Luckily Bel had dealt with it, by giving a motivational speech and sending out an email to everyone, who couldn’t be in the conference. She tried to play it down, not talking about a mafia-like organisation, more about some minor fanatics, being angry with the magazine's latest publishings.

That Scotland Yard had taken over — what was not all a lie, and it would be soon cleared up, and people were already taken in custody. No word about the papers they had sorted through, no word about the phone calls, the threats — it would have made no sense to drag the others into it too. It was enough, that the the Head of News, the Producer, a Freelancer and two interns were all involved and had to fear for their lives. The other writers, and the rest of the staff, was better left in the dark about it. What they didn’t know, they couldn’t pass on.

Randall felt better with his ears, yet he had an annoying echo every time someone spoke with him, something, so the Doctor had said, would pass in a few days. He would be back in old shape in a few weeks, but he had given the advice to Randall — jokingly — to avoid loud music in a disco for the future.

Aside that Randall felt guilty, as he hadn’t been able to help the others sort through the papers, and had kept Clara of this duty too. Bel insisted, it was okay, his health was more important, and they were able to sort it out without him.

“Everything is true, what we know till now. The information we have go along side with our earlier research about Kensington Industries, his owner John Marshall, the members of the house of parliament Scott, Thompson and Murray. We have enough proof, to get them behind bars. It’s basically a special issue we could bring out with all this information. We have names, places, even written down amounts of money, that have presumably flown from one pocket to another,” Bel explained in front of a big board, they had built over the weekend. Pictures, maps, little notes, and indeed some strings connected one point with the other — they were blue, but Danny had managed.

“Also, we not have real proof, do we? We do not have a key witness, do we? Mister Smith is gone — vanished,” Danny went on. “What we basically have is a rumour.”

“That’s all we need, Danny,” Freddie told him. “We are the news, we basically research rumour and bring them onto the screen, the papers. Right now, it’s only a whisper, but printing it in black and white, will make others start to move. The police will be forced to do something. We don’t need to find proof, we don’t need to make people like Smith talk, that the police will do for us.”

“It’s like an avalanche, isn’t it?” Clara asked.

“Yes,” Randall turned to her, before following one of the strings with one of his finger, “it is. We throw a little snowball into the ring, and it will become one of the biggest scandals the UK has seen this year. Heads will roll, People will go to jail, and not only those four. Things will change.”

“And yet,” Freddie stood up from the sofa he had sat on, “I can hear the ‘even so’ in your words.”

Randall turned around to him and the other, his look going out of the window, watching some clouds slowly move across the sky. It was a surprisingly sunny day. “I don’t have to remind you, that my car exploded yesterday, almost killing my two interns, and robbing me almost of my hearing.”

“So you think we should give up?” Bel asked him. If he would say so, she would follow — they both knew she trusted him. Freddie would protest, but would give in in the end.

“I didn’t say so,” he smiled thankfully to her, reading her mind. In all those years, he hadn’t seen someone more loyal as her.

He walked over to Clara, giving her a soft smile. How easy it would be to say they should drop the matter, leave it be, and then he would announce he would go onto a holiday, and take Clara with him. Just spending two weeks in the middle of Scotland’s nowhere, with her alone.

He turned on his heals, “Special issue. In two weeks. We make the whole thing alone. Just we five, no one else. From the first letter to the last test print. We just bring it without a word.”

Freddie escaped a disbelieving and surprised laugh, his mouth open he smiled, not sure if he had heard right, “Really?”

“I can’t do it alone, so I need you,” he nodded. “But… I can’t… I will not hold you back. If anyone wants to leave, you can take two weeks off, and I will never ever judge you over it. Danny? Clara?”

“We are too deep in it, anyway,” Danny began. “It’s not a clever idea, but I stick with you guys.”

“Clara?” Randall stepped up to her. “You don’t have to, only because… .”

“I want to. I started it,” she touched his hand for a moment with two fingers, “I don’t let you end this without me.”

“I don’t have to ask you, Freddie, do I?” he turned to the younger man.

“The thing calls Pulitzer, I am not leaving you alone here,” Freddie turned to his wife. “We are okay, are we?”

“Yes, we are, we are going to do this,” Bel confirmed, grabbing his hand for a short moment, and then suddenly out of nowhere clapped her hands together, calling out; “The Newspaper Band!”

All the others turned toward her with a quizzical look. Even Freddie seemed surprised, as he usually knew what was going on in the mind of his wife.

“Excuse me?” Randall adjusted his glasses.

“The Newspaper what?” Danny repeated and looked at Freddie who only pulled a face and shrugged.

“Don’t you remember? The day of the bomb threat, when we were meeting up in the diner,” Bel started to explain with a smile. “Wasn’t it you, Clara, saying we looked like some gang?”

“Yeah,” Clara tried to remember. She said much when the day was long. “Think so.”

“And you said, we need a name for it,” Freddie now got his wife’s drift. “The Newspaper Band?”

“Yes!” she said overexcited.

“Band? Did I miss something?” Danny asked, raising one eyebrow. “Did you guys take music lessons, while I went getting breakfast for us all?”

Bel threw a crumpled paper toward him, “Oh, stop the mocking!”

“Well, he is not wrong, is he?” Randall joined the absurd discussion. “It sounds like a name for a music band.”

“God, people, when did you all get so critical?” she threw her hands in the air. “I don’t mean it like in a band, I mean it like… like in this one movie,” she turned to Freddie.

Freddie remembered, “Oh, you mean Band of Brothers?” Bel nodded.

“Like a Band of Journalists?” Clara suggested after a moment of silence while everybody processed the words.

“How long did you think about this?” Danny asked confused, he barely couldn’t remember the incident itself. “And how many names did you come up with?”

“Hey Soldier Man!” Bel glared. “It’s a good name. Aside, aren’t we like a band? A music band?”

To his own surprise Randall opened the upper button of his shirt and then said, “Enlighten us.”

“Here we have the lead singer,” she pointed at Randall, who immediately protested under the amused look of Clara.

“Oh, please,” he regretted to let Bel have the word, “I can’t sing!”

“Are you kidding me? With this voice, I bet you only have to try,” Bel mocked back, and he smacked at her.

“As long, as I don’t really have to sing,” he grumbled but shot Clara a short smirk.

Bel went on in her explanation, “Then here we have our two background singers,” and pointed toward Danny and Clara.

“Oh, please? Why are we the background singers?” Danny obviously wanted to play guitar or the drums.

“Because you are the interns,” the seriousness of her explanation made Freddie almost burst out in laughter. “You can play the drums when you graduated.”

Danny gave it a disappointed sigh, even knowing it was not real.

“What do I play?” Freddie asked eager.

“You play the guitar, of course.”

“Of course,” Clara swayed with her face, playing as if she was jealous. “And I assume you play the drums then?”

“Yeah, giving the cadence, as a producer” she beamed at all of them. Her hands rose into the air and she formed an imaginary cardboard, “The Newspaper Band.”

“That’s totally … silly,” Randall snickered.

“Of course it is,” Bel said. “Also it’s the first time in two days I saw all of you smile, taking your minds off the case and the worries.”

A moment of silence fell over the group. Bel was right, they had reveled the sorrow for too long for the last few days.

“Can we print T-Shirts?” Danny suddenly came back to the topic. “If I am only the background singer I want at least a T-Shirt!”

“I would wear one,” Clara announced immediately.

“Oh, please!” Randall groaned over all the silliness in the room. “I am not going to wear a T-Shirt.”

“You get a button up with an imprint then,” Bel announced, and Freddie said he would wanted a jumper then.

Randall reached for his soda glass, eyeing his people. They indeed were a band. Of people. Friends. He laughed over it once more, shaking his head and then held the glass out, “To the Newspaper Band then.”

They all did the same, “To the Newspaper Band!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea about the Newspaper Band quiet a while ago and I know it's just fluffy and bit silly, but I liked it somehow and really wanted to use it. I think its a good possibilities to show that it's not only about Clara and Randall, to show that there is a group formed in all this trouble. 
> 
>  
> 
> I have a rough idea what will come in the next few chapters, and hope to update next week again. 
> 
> Thanks for your support!


	24. 24_You do what I want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall has to go to Inspector Brookstreet because of the explosion, he doesn't go there without being seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your response and I hope you like this chapter, even it will not be an easy one. Reminder for all who don't know The Hour or Randall all too good. He does not drink alcohol, and I think he is a dry alcoholic.

“So, Mister Brown, why don’t you tell me exactly what made you run down to the street, before your car exploded?”

Randall shuffled slightly in his seat. His face was strict, concentrated, and he suppressed the urge to tug at his tie. He knew of course that the Inspector would ask him this question, it had been obvious. People had seen him run down, there was no denying about it. The only thing he hadn’t expected from Inspector Brookstreet, was, that it would be his first question at him.

Four days after his car had went up in smoke, he finally made his way to Scotland Yard to follow Brookstreet’s request — a very pressing request — to answer some questions about the incident.

He had told Clara to stay in the office. As it was daylight he didn’t expect any incidents, and they hadn’t received any more phone calls or had felt observed, so they hoped the people behind all that had let go of them. Maybe not completely, but that the Newspaper Band, how Bel called them now, weren’t anymore the centre of attention.

Clara had of course protested, as if it had been him who had almost died in the explosion, but Randall had could calm her, convince her that he would be careful and aside everything, now they were doing the secret issue, every minute she was working in the office was worth so much. He promised to send her a message when he arrived and when he left, and after that he took a bus toward the city centre and found himself half an hour later in front of the massive building texting Clara he was fine.

Randall kept silent to the question. He had no answer, no real one. Every answer he could provide would make the Inspector tell him he was lying, and Randall hated to lie, and so he decided it was better to keep quiet. He knew his rights, he was no suspect, he was a victim and if he not wanted to talk, the Inspector could turn upside down without having any success.

The Inspector sighed softly. He had spent the last days with reading resumes about Randall Brown and the others who worked for him. From all the facts he knew about Randall, he knew that the man had experience in life, with hard decisions and tough happenings. An expert in his field, who gathered round only the best of the best. There was no need to push the man, it only would make him retreat more. Brookstreet knew how to handle all kind of people.

“You want some coffee?” he turned around and pointed toward a little coffee machine in the corner of his office. “It’s good one, not the nasty stuff from the canteen.”

Randall agreed, watching the Inspector rise, to make two cups. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and his hair was very short, due the fact, that he had lost the most of it already — Randall guessed the man in the middle of his forties. As some men did, to compensate the lost of hair on their head, he had an accurate scruff in his face.

“It’s good,” Randall said, after taking the first sip. He turned once more to the machine, now noticing it was the same as Clara had at home, but another model, and the coffee tasted even better. So he thought, he might had to buy her the next model, for Christmas or her birthday. When he looked back to the Inspector, who now sat again behind his desk, he saw the man regarded him with an observing look, and for a moment he was afraid, the man might had read his mind.

“Clara Oswald and Danny Pink,” Brookstreet tried again.

“Two of our interns,” Randall could play the game of talking about minimal information too.

“Those two were seen first by the car,” the Inspector flipped through the case file. Of course he knew what had happened, it was just some sort of tactic. Randall smirked unseen. “Miss Oswald was about to open the trunk.”

“Mh,” he hadn’t been there that moment, but he could remember she had been busy with the trunk, when he had arrived, “I had asked them to get something out of my car.”

Brookstreet waited, but Randall didn’t speak on, “And what exactly?”

“Papers.”

“Ah,” the policeman sipped from the coffee and then placed the cup aside. “You’re not going to tell me, do you?”

“Tell you what?” Randall now allowed himself to take off his glasses and to clean them gently with the handkerchief out of his breast pocket.

“I am not stupid, Mister Brown.”

“I never thought you were,” Randall gave him a short smile, placing the glasses back onto his nose.

“Your car is ruined, a wonderful Mercedes, and it wasn’t like Mister Lyon had suggested, because you had forgotten to do your yearly inspection,” he wasn’t about to lose his patience but his intention to stay calm.

“Did he? You have to excuse Mister Lyon, he is not very confident with cars,” Randall shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket.

Brookstreet nodded and opened another file. In there copied papers, he handed over to Randall, “Those are a few of the pages we found in the wreck. Those ‘ _papers’_ you were talking about. Most of it burned, but the few pages we could safe, seem… very interesting. “

Randall glanced over them. Most parts were burned, but at some points someone had circled a few spots. Names. Numbers. Locations. He handed the papers back to him, torn between of what to do. He knew the Inspector was not his enemy, but he couldn’t jeopardize the safety of his crew.

“I know what you want to hear from me, Inspector,” he then began. “I can’t, I simply can’t. You are a clever man, you know what those names are, and what they suggest. No, my car indeed didn’t go up in flames because I forgot to do some repairs. And yes, I had a good reason to run down the stairs to tell my two interns to get away from it. I am also sure, you know what could be a reason why I knew about it,” as if it wasn’t enough, he pulled out his mobile phone and placed it carefully but firm in front of the Inspector. A gesture with his hand to tell him to go on.

Quickly Brookstreet had flipped through the calling list, finding an unknown number the day the explosion had happened, just a few minutes before it had happened. He noticed also that all contacts were labelled with names except one number — the number John Smith had used and he wrote it down, and Randall let him. He handed the phone back to Randall, “You have a missed message.”

“I know,” Randall said, knowing it was from Clara, placing the phone back into the inside of his pocket.

“I can’t help you, if you are not talking with me,” Brookstreet leaned slightly forward. “Those people…they are dangerous. I can help you.”

“Can you?”

“They threat you, don’t they?” he then asked.

Randall decided not to answer the question. And it made Brookstreet sigh again, flipping Randall’s file open. He had read the man’s file so often, and couldn’t find anything that gave his life a pressure point. Of course the magazine, his staff, but that was something a man like Randall Brown could overlook, a risk he would be willing to take. So it must be something else, but there was no family, the man was mostly anti-social and wasn’t married. He was basically untouchable. And yet.

Then it came to Brookstreet, “Miss Oswald.” She had brought him to the hospital, and it had been her name on the display, when he had handed over the phone. “It’s her isn’t it?”

“I can’t follow you.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be stupid now!”

Randall grumbled, “Yes, we are… she is … yes.”

Brookstreet cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering that the man in front of him lost his ability to speak current, over a woman, “What?”

“For someone so clever, you’re slightly slow on the subject,” Randall snapped, and it immediately bugged him he had lost his temper.

“Well, for someone so versatile and confident, you have a very hard time to use the word ‘ _girlfriend’_ ,” the Inspector fired back.

“I won’t let happen anything to her,” Randall stood up and placed the empty cup back aside the coffee machine. “If I’ll tell you about it, you will start to dig, and you will bring back the attention we don’t need right now. Not now.”

“Why not now? What’s that supposed to mean?” Brookstreet stood up too, following Randall. “What is your plan? And do you really think, you people can pull something here and win? This is not a TV show.”

“I know it’s not, but what do you expect me to do? People probably watched me walking in here, don’t you think I don’t know that there is danger?” Randall barked. “There was an attack on my intern, my… girlfriend. They also tried to kill her, and Danny Pink. I know they not stop short for a real murder. And that’s why I decided not to talk with you, not yet, because we have possibilities to bring people down, and we can’t do that when the police is making a fuss. We are in danger, but when you come into it too, we have more trouble as we can take.”

“What do you expect from me?”

“Trust me! Give me a bit time, we’re working on something, and we need to finish this,” Randall pleaded.

“How much time do you need?”

“Another week, a little bit more.”

The Inspector ruffled his non existing hair, then he pulled out a card, and gave it to Randall, “You call me, on my private line if necessary, when something happens. And it doesn’t matter if you think it’s nothing. You call me! When the copy machine suddenly makes stupid noises, or the canteen chef is looking suddenly a bit strange at you. You call me! And tell me about it. And for that I give you time,” with quick strides he went back to his desk, and pulled open a drawer and brought an older phone out of it. “Here, it’s a disposable. Call me from this one. And don’t let anybody see that, clear?”

Randall nodded, and shoved it into his other pocket. After that he left the inspector, there was nothing more to talk about. He knew the risks, and Randall had decided that he would go the smaller risk, in not telling the police about their plan.

Stepping outside the building, Randall sent Clara another message that he was on his way back to the office. It was the smartest thing to do, he realized only five minutes later, when a van stopped aside him, while he walked down the footway. It was not a black van, it was a white one, and had commercials for a carpentry on it and it even had windows, so he didn’t think anything when the car stopped a few meters in front of his way. When a man stepped out and blocked his way, he realized something was amiss.

He knew the face, it was the man from the night after the dance. Randall calculated his chances. Step away was one possibility, he was sure those people wouldn’t pull out a gun and shoot him in the open street, if they would want to, they had done it already. They might would follow him, or just try later to get him.

They didn’t kidnap him in the dramatic way, so he guessed, they wanted to give him a choice, or make him at least believe he had one.

“Mister Brown,” the man said with a welcoming smile, and pointed at the open door of the van.

Randall slightly turned to the door, seeing another man sitting in there, politely smiling, “Is this a kidnapping or are we going to do the sightseeing tour?”

“I can tell you a bit about London, while we drive, also I have to admit, I lack some details,” the man shoved one hand into his pockets, casually, and still pointed at the open door. “Take an advice, and get in.”

“What if I don’t?”

The man reached out and touched his arm, “You not want to find out.”

Randall swallowed and obeyed, sitting down aside the other man, “Where are we going?”

“Someone wants to talk to you,” was all he heard and so he leaned back into seat and tried to catch up where they were driving. It was not a long drive, and it was just a living area they drove him, so he wouldn’t get killed somewhere by the docks and his body would get dumped in the Thamse. The thought was slightly relieving.

They brought him into a simple flat, nothing big, nothing too fancy, and it was so clean, that Randall quickly understood, that this was probably just a fake. An empty apartment, waiting for a new buyer or someone who would rent it, filled up with cheap furniture. It would make no sense to remember the address, when he would go back there tomorrow it would be empty.

The man from the car, that had asked him to come with him, brought him upstairs, and didn’t leave. Aside him, there was only one other man in the rooms. A man whose face, he knew, he had seen somewhere before. He needed a moment to pick up on it. The man had been in some of the pictures Danny had hung up, always in the background. Kensington Industries. His owner John Marshall never went without an entourage of bodyguards, assistants and his chief of staff.

“Harold Saxon,” Randall said.

The man shot him a smile, “Finally we meet,” Randall recognized the voice from the phone call he had received before his car was destroyed, “How is your hearing?” he walked up to Randall snapping with his fingers left and right by his ears.

Randall leaned back, “You owe me a car, Mister Saxon.”

“Do I? Mh,” he walked back to the open kitchen and pulled out two glasses and a whiskey bottle. “I really wish you had listened to me. I am so sorry about the car, I really am.”

Randall watched him pour two fingers of liquid into the glasses and returned to him with them. He anticipated what would come next. Saxon held out one of the glasses, but Randall didn’t move a muscle.

Saxon tilted his head, pursing his lips, “Come on. Don’t let me look like an idiot.”

For a reason he couldn’t explain to himself, he took the glass then, holding it in front of himself. Only giving it a short glance, before he fixed his eyes onto the man in front of him, “Is there a special reason why you brought me here?”

“Ah, I couldn’t oversee, that you went to the police,” Saxon nipped from the whiskey and made a gesture to Randall to do the same.

“I am sure you can imagine,” Randall began, without moving the glass, “the police wanted to talk to me, after my car exploded in front of my office.”

Saxon swayed back and forth, “Yes, yes, you’re right, that sounds logical.” And after a dramatic sigh he went on, “The thing is, Inspector Brookstreet is working the organised crime, so I am very worried,that you both talked about a bit more than just your car.”

“Would you believe me, when I said, we didn’t?”

“No.”

“So?”

“I tell you what I do,” Saxon licked his lips, and stepped aside him, bringing his hand around Randall’s which held the glass, and gently urged it toward him, “I believe you, for the moment. We find out, so or so. And if we find out, you both talked about ‘ _this’_ , about John Smith — who is dead by the way — I make sure, that your little girlfriend Miss Oswald, will be dead too. Nothing dramatic of course. Car accident, or.. I don’t know, robbery, rape, and,” he sighed again, shoving the glass closer to Randall’s lips, “some other things. Followed by Mister Pink, and Mister and Misses Lyon.”

Randall licked his lips, the glass close, the smell of the whiskey making him tremble inside. It was good whiskey. Scottish one, at least 12 years old, he could smell it.

“I get you,” he said, and wasn’t able to give his voice a steady timbre.

Saxon stepped away from him, grinning, “I am sure you do. You guys just did something very stupid. Mister Marshall will not accept interference in his business. And will not allow you to shoo away his customers, high paid politicians and money making corporations. I am paid for taking care of this, very well paid, and so my motivations to bring you guys to an end, are very high.”

“What you expect me to do?” Randall asked, now feeling he had made a mistake somewhere.

“Mh, your magazine is overrated anyway, how about, you shut it down?”

“Shut it down? What do you think?” Randall blurted. “It’s not my magazine. I just run it. It’s not in my hands.”

Saxon walked back to him, slowly, as if there was no hurry, and there Randall felt his phone buzz, but luckily Saxon didn’t hear it. Saxon put on finger onto the glass and pushed it toward his lips, “I don’t care. And now, you are going to drink this. If not, I am making sure, my friend here will make you drink it.”

“I-”

“-You drink it. You can. Come on, how long is it, you didn’t taste a good whiskey? 20 years now?”

Randall’s eyes fell shut, when he slowly let the alcohol flow into his mouth. Indeed it had been 20 years, but his body, his tongue, his mind hadn’t forgotten about the alcohol, and he felt his heart accelerate and the urge to want more rise in an instant. The whiskey burned down his throat and a single tear ran down his face. And when he felt the liquor warm his belly, he let the glass fall to the ground and heard it shatter there.

“See!” Saxon cheered, “You did it. So, you take care of what I told you to do, and so you not going to forget about it, we give you a little reminder.” Saxon reached up, and took Randall’s glasses from his nose, and before he could react, the other man had stepped up from behind him, and crashed his fist into Randall’s face.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spare you the details for poor Randall, at least for now. Hopefully see you next week, when the DW finale will not kill me emotionally.
> 
> And yes, we all know Mister Saxon ;). Why create someone new, ey?!


	25. 25_Keeping the Mind busy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall wakes up after being beaten up. Saxon has made him drink alcohol. Consequences to follow. Good and bad one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, so, so, sorry. I took forever to write this one. And I blame my all too busy mind coming up with a new fic idea and me writing a few other ficlets. It's not good writing five things at the same time, but I can't help it. I am not the master over my ideas anymore.
> 
> Also, (as a little amend) this chapter contains an m-rated part. It's in the end, so when you want to skip that, you can easily spot when it starts and quit after reading the first 2/3 of the chapter.

When Randall woke up again, he couldn’t say how long he had been unconscious. Glancing out of the window told him the sun was still up, and it might were only a couple of minutes and not hours.

He groaned, while his hands travelled over his body, gently checking for serious injuries. Wiggling his toes told him, he would be able to walk, and when his hands slid over his jacket, he felt the two phones, and he pulled them both out carefully, as every move hurt. They were both intact, and he could see on his private phone, that Clara had tried to call him five more times.

It was around three o’clock, so he was out around thirty minutes. He rolled onto his back, and placed the phone onto his chest. His ribs hurt viciously, and after he had opened the buttons of his vest, he dared to line out his ribs to find out if they were broken. He was no Doctor, but they felt intact.

“Don’t break his ribs,” he had heard Saxon tell his henchman.

The man had hit him in the face so hard that Randall almost had went down to his knees, but he had been able to keep standing, and when the second blow hit him, he felt a ungentle hand by his arm, that made him keep standing. The next few blows hit his stomach and ribs. Then the man had let go of him and Randall had dropped to the ground like a stone.

Remembering Saxon’s face in front of him, telling him, “Because broken ribs don’t hurt that much as fractured ones.” After that he had felt unconscious. He had once broken a rib when he had been a young boy, and even he couldn’t really remember, he knew that broken ribs indeed didn’t hurt as much as bruised ones.

Then Randall let his fingers glide over his face, fearing the worst. There was no blood, but he was almost certain, he would look horrible the next day. He sighed, and felt his phone buzz.

“Clara,” he answered.

“Where the hell are you?” he could hear by the tone of her voice how worried she was, and she probably had reckoned with the worst as he had not answered.

“I am… okay,” he breathed heavy. “I…”

“God, what is wrong? Is everything okay?”

Randall told her the address, “Bring Danny. I am okay, just come.” He needed a strong hand to bring him onto his feet, down to the street, pack him into a cab and help him up the stairs into his apartment.

Then he dropped the phone aside from him, realising he was not wearing his glasses. His look fell to the left and there he could see vaguely something laying. His glasses. With trembling hands he put them on, seeing now clearer, he saw the bottle of whiskey standing aside him.

He tried to look away, but the pain was so horrible, and so the only thing Randall could do was to close his eyes. For a moment he had forgotten about the liquor Saxon had urged him to drink, but with the sight of the bottle the remembrance was back again, and he felt his whole body scream for more. Smelling at the glass had been a hard challenge, but drinking it was close to a defeat.

After a minute of battling with his inner demons, Randall rolled onto his side and began slowly to sit up. He couldn’t stand up like this, for that his chest hurt too much, and so he robbed over to the sofa, shuffling the bottle with him. There he brought himself very ungraceful onto his feet.

Breathing away his pain, he then went over to the kitchen. Now, standing and walking, was a bit like fighting a very harsh muscle ache. When he would move enough, he would get used to it and his bones and muscles would slowly become at ease again. Or it was just what he hoped for.

When he had reached the kitchen, he placed the bottle in front of him, thinking. His arms carrying his body weight, while he held tight to the counter. The alcohol had been always one of his demons, and he had been able to lock it away for twenty years, because it was the only thing he could do. Locking them away, and now they had been released from prison. 

What would a prisoner do, after twenty years?

He was close, close to bring the bottle to his lips and just drink it. What would it change? The booze would ease down the pain, and he could start to get dry again tomorrow. And then he thought about Clara and he knew he couldn’t do it.

With the back of his hand, he slammed against the bottle, so it fell into the sink, and shattered there, the liquor flowing down the drain.

For a moment he regretted it and wanted to bring his hand over the drain, but before he was about to cut his hands, he go the better of himself, and turned away with a loud groan because of the pain.

He walked back to the living room, and sank back to the floor. Afraid he would fall asleep, he found the hard floor would keep him awake till Clara and Danny would arrive.

It didn’t take them long, and when they reached the apartment Randall had named them, they found the door unlocked.

“Randall?” Danny pushed the door slowly open, afraid there was still danger. Clara was bouncing up and down behind him, worried to the end.

“I am here,” Randall answered, and Clara sprung into action, shoving Danny aside and hurried toward Randall.

“Randall!” she came to her knees, one hand grabbing one of his. “My god, what has happened?”

Danny joint them, checking him for visible wounds, relieved he couldn’t make out any blood, “Randall?”

“I am fine,” he began, Clara stroking gently over his head. “Just beaten up,” he even was able to give it a laugh. “Give me a hand, Danny.”

“Who was this? Who did this to you?” Clara pressed, while Danny helped him to come up under piercing pain. As Randall was holding his side, he anticipated that his ribs had been affected.

“There are not broken, Danny,” Randall read the question in the younger man’s worried eyes. “Harold Saxon. Heard of him?”

“Yes,” Danny nodded. “He is the right hand of John Marshall, I think he is his PR-manager or something.”

Randall cringed in pain when he needed to laugh over Danny’s explanation, “Or something, yes.”

“He did this to you? We have to go to the police!” Clara exclaimed. “There is no way we can’t!”

Randall placed a hand on Clara’s shoulder, “Yes, we can, and then what? It would be nothing more as a bit of discrediting. They have lawyers, they find a way, to make us — me — look like I just said this because of what ever reason. And then we have lost everything. I get fired, and you guys probably too. No, we can’t go to the police, not yet.”

“Are you serious? I mean look at you! Danny, tell him, we have to go to the police!” Clara was exasperated with the situation. Deep down she knew Randall was right, but this all had could end differently. Randall being beaten to dead, and her being all alone again.

“She is not wrong, Randall,” Danny answered reconciling.

“We will have this discussion tomorrow,” he took a deep breath, starting to cough because of the pain. “Right now, I want to go home. You have to help me.”

“We should go to a hospital,” Danny suggested, already knowing the answer.

“He won’t go to one, Danny,” Clara rolled her eyes, and grabbed one of his arms, to bring it around her shoulders.

Randall gave her a smirk, then turning to Danny with the same expression, “She knows me so well.”

“Oh, shut up,” Clara growled and then they helped Randall down the stairs to the street, where they hailed a cab.

“Promise me, you will see a Doctor, when the pain gets insufferable,” Danny fastened his seat belt.

“I promise,” Randall nodded, leaning as far as possible into the rest of the back-seat to take pressure from his chest.

“I’ll stay with him the night, I’ll make sure he will see one,” Clara said, brushing over Randall’s face again. Already a dark area was building up around his jaw and left eye. “That’s going to look nasty tomorrow.”

“What did Saxon say? He wants us to stop, right?” Danny asked now.

“More than that. He wants me to shut down the magazine,” Randall told them.

“What? That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Nothing is impossible, Clara,” he thought again about Saxon’s word, that he didn’t care how he would do it, just that he better should do it. “But… I don’t know. I really can’t think right now.”

Randall watched his right hand, seeing it tremble, quickly making a fist and pressing it against his upper thigh. The picture of the whiskey bottle flashed up in front of him. Agitated he started to shift in his seat.

“You’re alright?” Clara noticed.

“Yes, it’s just… it hurts,” Randall nodded quickly. “I just want to take a shower and go to bed, that’s all.”

Danny threw Clara a worried look, he sensed something was up with Randall, something that went beyond being simply beaten up. He had seen men in Afghanistan act like this after a battle. Himself had acted like this. In desperate need to hide something. Clara and Danny only could assume at this moment what Saxon had done to Randall.

When they reached the apartment, Danny paid the driver and then helped Randall up the stairs. Clara opened the door for them, and Danny brought Randall straight toward his bedroom with the attached bathroom.

“I tell the others,” he then announced when Clara escorted him back to the door. “Look out for him please, I am worried. I don’t know much about Saxon, but he has an aura of evil around him, not just ordinary evil.”

“I know what you mean,” Clara looked back to the bedroom door. “I’ll find out. I stay in contact. We will come to the office tomorrow.”

“Stay safe,” Danny pulled Clara into a hug, and then left.

When Clara returned to the bedroom, Randall was still sitting there on the bed staring into the nothing. He was still wearing his shirt and the unbuttoned vest, the jacket they had taken from him. She guessed he hadn’t moved a bit. She frowned, and was about to ask him, what was wrong, when she noticed that he was shaking, that all his body was tense, and that the veins by his neck were visible. His eyes were wet, and he had faded out of this reality.

“Randall?” she whispered, slowly coming closer, till she stood in front of him. He gave no reaction and so she knelt in front of him, taking his hands into hers. Beginning to rub small circles over his skin, in hope it would sooth away the catatonic state he was in. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she whispered ongoing to him, telling she was here and she would take care of him, that he had all the time in the world and so on. Then Clara slowly began to unbutton his cuff-links, placing them carefully into a box, that laid by a little table.

She felt his breathing change, getting more even and hoped it was a good sign, before starting to unbutton his shirt, “You have to help me a little, Randall. Can you do that?”

Suddenly he snapped out of his state, his eyes fixed on her. Then he glanced around, scanning his bedroom, and his clothes, as if he didn’t know what had happened, “Yes.”

With that he spread his arms slightly, so Clara could get the vest and the shirt down before slowly shoving his undershirt over his head. Randall groaned in pain. “Sorry.”

Only now they both saw the heavy bruises that were about to form by his side. Clara needed to place her hand over her mouth. It would be all black and purple the next day.

Randall surveyed at the bruises, his hands once more outlining his ribs, then he looked at Clara, seeing the horror in her eyes, “It could have been worse. I am fine, don’t worry.” He broke away with his eyes, feeling an urgent feeling rise, the need for something to drink, and not only water. In his desperation he pressed against his ribs and yelled over the sensation.

“What are you doing?” Clara grabbed his hand and pulled it away from the injury. “Stop it!”

“It’s the only thing that will help,” Randall tried to struggle himself free from her grip, but he had no more energy and was all weak.

“Help what?”

“Saxon made me drink…. drink alcohol, Clara,” he finally gave in. “He knew… Clara I don’t drink because I am a recovered alcoholic. I haven’t had a drink for 20 years, but when Saxon made me drink it that was like… I don’t know,” his voice started to get unsteady. “Just right now, I want to have a drink, so hard. I know it’s not good, I know it’s wrong, but it’s all I can think of.”

“Shhh,” she hushed him down, pulling him into a tight hug, still kneeling in front of him. “It’s okay, I understand. It’s not your fault. I am with you, we manage, yes?”

“Yes,” he brought his hands around her, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. “I only need a night, find my strength again.”

“I stay with you, you know that,” she took his face between her hands, making him face her. “What can I do? Is there anything I can do?”

“Keep me busy, till I fall asleep, get my mind of the alcohol,” he said, touching her cheek with his palm. He was so in love with her, sometimes he was unable to tell her.

Clara leaned in and kissed him softly. Planned as a brief kiss, she then lingered by his lips, and Randall felt her breath against his skin, and slowly leaned in again. His lips capturing hers, while he felt his ribs ache under his movements. The pain couldn’t stop him and he couldn’t stop himself either, and when Clara opened her mouth, and teased his with her tongue, he gave into her.

Clara had wanted him to get to the shower, it would help relax his sore muscles and then something in her mind just blanked when she kissed him. When she noticed he seemed not to mind, she gave into her needs and into a plan, that formed in her head. Keeping his thoughts busy.

His hands held her face, while Clara slowly crawled on top of the bed, carefully as possible pressing Randall down the mattress, till she straddled him, bowing over him, kissing him deep, till he moaned into her mouth.

“Clara…,” he breathed, “I am not quite sure if I-”

She silenced him with a kiss, before giving him a smirk, “You have to do nothing, except lying there where you are.”

Randall swallowed hard, her words sent a hot shiver down his body and he felt — to his own surprise — the arousal between his legs, “I think I can do that.”

Clara grinned at him, and glided down with her hands, kissing down his throat over his chest, inch by inch. When she reached the spot by his sides, where the skin had already started to turn dark, Randall hissed.

“Hurts?” Clara asked checking at him.

“Slightly,” he played it down, afraid she would stop with her ministrations, but that wasn’t her plan, and so she leaned down again, and placed very light kisses over the area.

“Better?” her left hand stroke slowly over his hardening member, and Randall gasped, his head dropping back into the pillow.

“Way better…,” he moaned and Clara enjoyed his helplessness, kissing around his stomach, his chest, while her hands undid his belt and the fly of his trousers. Randall was fully aroused now and when she freed his erection, he involuntarily bucked up with his hips, what send pleasure and also pain through his body. He needed to groan and laugh at the same time. Clara snickered, and took with one swift motion — hoping it would be only one big pain — off his trousers and underwear, finding herself between his legs, his erection standing in front of her.

Randall was a gorgeous man, she always had found that, and he was good with his fingers and his tongue on her, and he never wanted her to return the favour. Now, as he was incapable of _‘fighting’_ her, she gave into her curiosity, and licked over his shaft from the base up to the tip. The shiver that went through Randall shook the whole bed, connected with a long gasp.

“Clara…”

“Shut up!” she squeezed his upper thighs, and licked again. This time ending by the tip of his length circling it with her tongue. He was wet and it tasted intoxicating, sweet and slightly bitter. When she had lingered around long enough, her hot breath dancing around the sensitive flesh, she leaned slowly forward, taking him into her mouth. Taking him as far as she could, her tongue circling around his length, and then came up again, sucking him hard.

“Oh, god!” Randall’s hands landed in the bedspreads, gripping them tight.

She enjoyed his reaction and did it again, this time a little slower but harder, massaging his testicles, and she felt his pre cum thick in her mouth. He was probably already close, she thought and wondered when was the last time someone gave Randall Brown a blow job.

“You have to stop this,” she heard him say, and decided to take pity on him, but couldn’t hold back to lick one last time over his full length, before coming to her feet, looking down at him. He was out of breath, flushed in the face, and completely naked, while she had swollen lips, red cheeks, and was fully dressed, grinning down at him, “You are enjoying this, Clara Oswald, don’t you?”

She bit her lips naughty, starting to slip her jumper and shirt at once over her head, so he could see her bra. Then she quickly wiggled out of her denims and then opened her bra, letting it fall to the ground. All under his attentive looks, his chest rising up and down heavily. “There is something I would enjoy a little more, Mister Brown. Wanna know what?”

There was a chance he wouldn’t survive this, he thought. Before he could answer, Clara had taken of her panties and straddled him once more.

She felt hot and light, and was wet herself, and not only Randall’s mind was busy, so was hers. Everything forgotten, and when she felt his warm hands on her thighs, sliding up to her waist she slowly brought herself over his erection, taking him in hand and then sank down on him. Kissing and licking him, had made her all aroused and Clara knew she was close like he was. If she not wanted to come too quickly, she had to take it slow.

They both moaned in unison when Clara started a very slow pace, leaning down to capture his lips in a passionate but leisure kiss, riding Randall.

Randall was banned to do nothing, raising his head over a certain level meant his muscles would contract and make his ribs hurt. It was painful already, but the pleasure, the feeling of him inside of Clara, all the fuzzy warmth that spread through him, was worth it.

Clara broke the kiss and leaned further down, giving him the chance to kiss her breast, and Randall caught the hint, sucking her hard flesh inside of his mouth, circling the other with his thumb. He was close, too close to hold out any longer, and so his other hand sneaked between them, brushing over her sex, gently rubbing against the little nub, and soon Clara uttered incoherent words. Her orgasm washing over her in warm waves, her back arching and her hands digging into his shoulders, and to see her come undone, let Randall follow. A mix of horrible pain, and a wonderful warm feeling.

“How are you feeling?” Clara whispered, after having caught her breath, slowly rolling off him, coming to rest aside of his body.

Randall had trouble to find a way to breathe even again, and switched from groaning to laughing a couple of time, “There is a chance I died and now I am in heaven?”

She kissed his cheek, smiling over his words, “So you say I am a goddess?”

“You most definitely are,” he leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. “What do you think about getting some sleep. I really could need it. I’ll take the shower later.”

“Fine by me,” Clara reached for the blankets and covered them both, and then snuggled back into Randall’s side. Quickly they both fell asleep.

For a short moment all their sorrow had been forgotten. Tomorrow was another day, where they had to think all about what to do, how to proceed. Was shutting down the magazine really an option? Should they give in into Saxon’s mad demands? What would happen if they wouldn’t? How far would the man go? It was all about money in the end, and Randall knew — his battered face was proof of it — people went long ways to keep their money.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's Christmas soon and I am going on vacation next Monday, I can't say when I update here again, I most defiantly will write for it, but posting from my Ipad is pure horror, so either you get an update before Monday or after the 28th. 
> 
> Thanks for still reading this, I am not sure if the hanky panky in the end was necessary, but gosh, I thought I write it. Also, of course, I am not a Doctor, but a friend of mine once banged his rips very harsh while snowboarding and the Doctor told him that a broken rib would hurt less as just strained ones. Not sure if it is true. He told me it hurt for a few weeks. And yes, sex was possible too, but that hurt too, he said ;).


	26. 26_Forging a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can't do it alone. Not after threatened by Harold Saxon. They need help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge "SORRY!" to all my readers, that I needed so long for updating. It was really not my intention. But after I returned from my vacation I caught a heavy Sinusitis, that only now slowly eases away, and finally allows me to write without having tremendous headaches. 
> 
> About the chapter, I actually really try to come up with a Tom Clancy novel idea, because I never thought about the end of this story and never thought I would go this way. It started all out as a "Boy meets Girl" and now, it some sort of thriller. I often say, my stories get out of hand, this one really did. I'll give my best to wrap it up in a more or less logical story. :D

It must have been the middle of the night when Randall woke up from strange dreams and a sharp pain in his side. He tried to stifle a groan so he wouldn’t wake Clara who was curled up by his side. Taking a few deep breathes, he watched her for a moment, hoping she would sleep on — and she did. 

Then he slowly crawled out of the bed, glancing at the watch. Indeed, it was three in the morning. Grabbing a jumper, he left the bedroom on tip toes, walking into the living room. 

His chest and stomach hurt viciously and in the reflection of a picture he could see a very visible shiner around his eye. Only now he allowed himself to groan. Not much because of the pain, more about the situation, about what had happened. 

He had known they would get in trouble, but that those people would go that far, he never had thought for a moment. Then he realized, he hadn’t allowed him to think of it, and maybe that had been his mistake. 

If he had allowed himself to assume, just for a second, that they would thread Clara, the others or him like this, he wouldn’t have allowed them to do the issue they were about to do. He would have been rather a coward, as some sort of saviour for a cause he was unable to understand in its fullness. 

He groaned again, thinking he felt like being in a Tom Clancy novel. He hated Tom Clancy, not the man personally, just his novels. Too long, too complicated but rather thrilling. He had read each novel, only to give them to Bel afterwards. 

Getting himself a glass of water he leaned against the counter and tried to come up with a master plan. 

They couldn’t go on like this. Doing what they did without help. They needed backup, even it would complicate all things, and Saxon wouldn’t be happy about it, and when the man wasn’t happy, it was not like he would only start to yell at them. Then being beaten up, would be Randall’s least problem. 

Brookstreet. The man was his only option. Finding the cell phone he had given him, he turned it on and thought about how to proceed. Randall was about to press the dial button when he started to glance around in his living room. 

God, maybe he was now going paranoid — thanks to Tom Clancy, when he thought about the possibility of someone overhearing everything. Bugs, there could be bugs everywhere. Saxon was clever. It could be possible. 

Then he tried to think like someone who places devices like this in an apartment. The bathroom might be clear, but how should he know? The room, that was least likely bugged, was the little closed by the entrance. 

Randall rolled his eyes and opened the door to the closet silently. There was not much space, as everything was packed with boxes, just enough to squeeze in. If Clara would find him like this, it would be hard to explain, he thought, and closed the door behind him.

It rang four times till a sleepy, raspy voice answered, “Brookstreet?”

“Inspector,” Randall whispered. “It’s Randall Brown.” He could hear how the Inspector shot up in his bed, realizing the meaning of the phone call. It obviously had an effect when someone called another person at three in the morning — the intention wasn’t small talk. 

“Hold the line,” the man muffled and seemed to leave his bedroom. Randall had noticed the ring on his finger earlier in his office. Waiting patiently and preventing some boxes from collapsing onto him, when the Inspector spoke up again, “Please tell me, you don’t call me from a basement five minutes before you being thrown into the Thames?”

Randall smirked, he really started to like this man, “It’s more a box-room to be honest, and no, no life is at stake — not at the moment. Listen, can you meet me tomorrow at nine o’clock in the hospital?”

Brookstreet seemed staggered for a moment, about to sort out all kind of reasons why they had to meet up in a hospital, “Hospital? Why the hospital?”

“Because it is the only place we can meet without being suspicious,” Randall said. 

“What has happened? And don’t tell me nothing has, because I can hear it in your voice. What the hell has happened?” 

“Does the name Harold Saxon ring a bell?” 

“To be honest, no. I’ll look him up,” the Inspector admitted, scribbling the name down onto a newspaper in front of him. 

“We have been watched, and right now I am standing in my box-room because I fear someone has bugged my place. I might get paranoid in my old days, but you surely understand I can’t risk anything anymore here. You have to meet me in the hospital, it’s the only place we can meet without looking suspicious,” Randall explained, shoving another box away from him. “Can you be there at eight?”

“Let me guess, you want me to be early, so no one will see me come in?” Brookstreet guessed, almost amused over Randall’s exact plan, that seemed to exist in his head. “Shall I put on a fake moustache and wear a ridiculous hat too?”

Randall knew the man was edgy because he was tired, and also tried to make the situation less threading they were in by using a strange kind of humour, “I am not quite sure if you take this serious enough.”

Brookstreet chuckled, “It’s not my first day Mister Brown, I know what to do. I am well aware we can’t meet up on a park bench in Hyde Park, exchanging brown envelopes with the word “Top Secret” on it. I’ll find you.”

“Good, thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Randall nodded and then hung up. Early retirement wasn’t maybe not a bad idea at all after this would be done, he thought. He always could find a silly little job in a silly little town near Glasgow, as an editor or teacher for the local school. 

He huffed, and slipped out of the closet, returning to the bed. Clara was still in the same position and only moved toward him when he had slipped back under the blanket. She hummed, and he smiled at her. Soon — so he hoped — he would take her with him onto a holiday. Just the two of them. Spain maybe, or Paris, or whatever she would fancy. 

#

The next morning Randall agreed quickly on Clara’s “command” to go to the hospital, so quickly, that she actually frowned at him asking if he was alright. 

“Obviously not,” he showed her the nasty bruise that had emerged over his chest and stomach, like a map, with a thin smile.

Clara had to turn away for a moment, “I need coffee before I admire your wounds.”

Randall hadn’t told her about the phone call he had given Brookstreet. The lesser she knew, the lesser someone else would know about it. 

She found out in the hospital when they waited for a doctor in a separate room. Not that he had been often in hospitals, but Randall was sure, this wasn’t the usual procedure, and believed this was Brookstreet’s doing. They waited half an hour, till someone in a white coat finally waltzed in, holding a clipboard in front of him. 

“Finally,” Clara muttered under her breath. Patience wasn’t her thing. 

The Doctor wasn’t a doctor, and they both recognised him as Inspector Brookstreet quickly, as aside the coat there was not much of a disguise, “Congratulations, you expecting twins.”

He not wanted, but Randall did smile over the joke, while Clara just kept frowning, “What is going on here?”

“Ah, Miss Oswald,” Brookstreet placed the clipboard aside. “Finally, we meet in person. I am Inspector Brookstreet. Scotland Yard. Mister Brown has summoned me here for a little talk.”

Randall and Clara exchanged a few glances. She wasn’t happy about his silence but understood. In the end, she only shrugged.

“I thought you are here since eight,” Randall looked at him, now frowning himself. “Why did you let us wait half an hour?” 

“To be sure. I have five people outside, disguised as nurses or as a patient, having an eye on anyone who seems suspicious,” he explained. 

“I hope they are better disguised, as you are,” Clara pointed at him. The Inspector just smirked at her, knowing he didn’t look that good, but he had seen the other doctors, and none of them looked any better. 

“So, Mister Brown, humour me! What is going on, what changed your mind to talk with me? Very nasty black eye by the way, can I expect you’ve collected that one from Mister Saxon?”

“Not only that,” Randall slowly opened his shirt and made the Inspector hiss over the sight, “You researched the man?”

“Yes, I did,” he grabbed the clipboard again and flipped through the pages. “No criminal record. Works for Mister Marshall from Kensington Industries as his PR-manager. That what comes up when you start to dig, and when you dig a little deeper, one realizes that something is not correct with this man. Little incidents, nothing that would wreck a career, mostly because no one ever has put charges against him. Funnily enough to mention, that two people who had wanted, disappeared — and I don’t think that’s a good sign.”

“Harold Saxon, well, one of his henchmen, did this to me, yesterday,” Randall buttoned his shirt up again. “I want to tell you about the papers.”

“I hoped you would tell me a bit more about just some papers, Mister Brown,” Brookstreet suggested and sat down in one of the chairs in the room. 

So Randall told him about everything, about things he knew, like the incident with Clara, and things he hadn’t known about, like all the papers, that were saved into the cloud, and were now used to craft a special issue for the magazine. About corruption, about politicians, money laundering, and about Kensington Industries. About Harold Saxon, telling Randall to shut down the magazine.

The Inspector would have ruffled his hair if he would have had any, “And you really thought, you could pull this off all on your own.”

“In retro-perspective, it was maybe a bit ambitious,” Randall admitted. 

“Amb-?” the cheerful person was replaced by a more angry nature now. “It’s always the journalists, you know that? Reckless and stupid to the end. I have seen more of you dead as alive I think sometimes!”

“Inspector!” Clara interrupted. “We are still alive, and we came to you in the end. It would be helpful to calm down and make that we all stay alive.”

“I am sorry,” Brookstreet sat down again. “But what do you think I am? What do you expect from me? Your people, Mister Brown, made some high ranking people very angry and very scared and that is a dangerous mix. You all walk around with a hairline cross over your faces. The proper thing to do is, collect you all, and let you vanish. Witness protection programme, and I am not talking about changing your name. New life. New country. New planet if possible!”

“Inspector when this is your plan, I am sorry to say, but it’s not going to work,” Randall stood up and walked over to the windows, glancing out. “There must be something, we can do.”

“The problem is, we need time, and I am not sure if we have it,” Brookstreet bit around on his tongue and lower lip, desperately trying to come up with an idea. “When do you have the special issue ready?”

“End of next week,” Clara said. “If we ever get there. Saxon wants us to shut down, quickly. I’m not sure if we have till next week, Randall.”

“I know,” he was close to admitting to the defeat. “So Inspector? What do we do?”

“Can you get your people here? In the next hour?”

“Why?” Randall asked, already having his phone in hand.

“Just do it, I think I have an idea, but I need to make some phone calls,” Brookstreet smiled at them both. “We keep you busy here. Do as if your injuries are serious, in case we are being watched. Call your people, tell them it’s serious, you need an operation. Whatever, make them come, but don’t tell them what for.”

“Shall I tell them to bring flowers too?” Randall huffed.

“Yes,” Brookstreet gave him an all teeth grin, gesturing into the room. “The room looks rather dull anyway.”

When the inspector had left again, Randall handed the phone over to Clara. As it should be serious, it might be better to let her make the call. The dramatic effect would cause Bel and the others to come over at once. 

And that was exactly what happened an hour later. With worried lines on their faces, Bel, Freddie and Danny stood in the room, finding Randall laying casually on the bed. 

“For someone in urgent medical need, you look very at ease, Randall,” Bel commented, looking for a vase for the flowers they had brought. “Let me guess, you’re not really about to die, aren’t you?”

“To die?” Randall raised an eyebrow at Clara. “What did you tell them?”

Clara made a grimace, “There is a chance I exaggerated a bit.”

“A bit?” Danny gasped. “Girl, we extra only bought the cheap flowers, as we thought he wouldn’t live long enough to see them bloom.”

That earned him a slap from Freddie against the shoulder, “He is lying!” 

“Yes, I am,” Danny grinned at Clara first and gave Randall an excusing look. “Also, those are the cheap flowers.”

Bel rolled her eyes, and took the bouquet from Danny’s hands, and put them into the vase, “Clara is not Meryl Streep, it was rather clear, your sudden life threatening situation was just made up. Also, we played along.”

“Oh, good,” Randall smiled gently at his producer. “I was worried, you ran around the office telling everyone about the Newspaper Band doing some serious espionage.”

“You’ll certainly remember, who you gave all your Tom Clancy’s novels,” Bel only said, and then settled into one of the chairs. “So, what’s going on?”

It fit, that this was the moment Brookstreet came back, still wearing his lab coat. Freddie looked at him, catching the name from the tag he was wearing, “Doctor Brookstreet? How undercover-ish.”

Brookstreet huffed, “You are all insufferable! Nice meeting you all again. We have some serious work to do. So the thing is,” he came straight to the point. “Harold Saxon wants you to shut down the magazine.”

“That’s impossible to do,” Bel commented. “It’s not like we snap our fingers and nothing happens anymore. There are higher authorities that would need to take care of it.”

“Yes, I know, I’ve already taken care of that,” Brookstreet handed out a paper to everyone and waited for them to quickly read over it, before going on.

“Financial Problems?” Randall couldn’t believe what he was reading. “That is a press release for the magazine, that we close down, because of financial problems? That is ridiculous.”

“Of course, it is! It doesn’t matter for Saxon why you shut down, only that you do, correct? On next Sunday, you deliver your last issue. Sending everyone from the printery to every last of your writers into a forced two weeks vacation.”

“You just can’t send everyone onto a vacation, Saxon will know,” Bel said. “You can’t mean that serious.”

“Miss Rowley, I do mean it, because the alternative is, that you shut down your magazine for real, getting everyone fired, for real. Or keeping up the work, and one night after shift, you don't reach home, because two men will snatch you from the pavement, and you will never ever be seen again,” Brookstreet leaned forward. “You will send them home on Friday, and on Sunday, they all receive their dismissal via mail by you and the chief executive, I told him he has no other choice. You will tell them, everyone will be paid for two more months and then, one week later, you bring out your special issue. And with that, you will let loose a hurricane.” 

“That’s the plan?” Danny asked. “I don't want to be the spoilsport, but what will stop Saxon to kill us afterwards?”

“I will,” Brookstreet announced under the confused looks of them all. “That’s another plan, one between Mister Brown and me.”

“Stop it! Just for a second,” Freddie waved with his hands aside his head. “If you send everyone home, who is going to print everything?”

A moment of silence fell over the group. The inspector had clearly an idea in mind, they could all see it, but he wanted that they got to the point by themselves. In the end, it was Clara. Beginning to laugh, earning the attention of all. 

“Clara? Why are you laughing?” Randall asked.

“That’s actually a question, I expected from you,” she smirked, reaching for her purse, pulling out her smartphone. “We don’t have to print it. We make a digital copy. Sending it out to everyone at once. Facebook. Twitter. Every social media site. Every other newspaper with an email addresses. Right?”

The Inspector smiled, “Welcome to the 21st century! The only thing you have to do is, finishing it. Can you do that? You have to do it from home, giving the impression you have quit doing what you are doing. This will give me enough time to set up the trap, for Saxon, Kensington industries and some high ranking politicians. When your word comes out, I will be there to collect the pieces of the disruption you people will cause.”

Randall noted they all looked at him, “I think we are able to do that. The pressing question — for me — is, can you guarantee safety for them?”

Brookstreet hesitated long enough, to show Randall, that he, of course, couldn’t. How could he? There were so many uncertainties, which changed every day, “I could lie to you, to you all, telling you everything will go by plan. But nothing ever goes by plan. I am not worried about Kensington Industries, or the politicians. It’s Saxon, and we know that all. If we can lure him into a trap, I am sure you are all safe.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Clara stepped forward, sensing there was another dangerous plan coming up, even more dangerous as the first one. Randall in the centre of it. She didn’t like it, without knowing anything about it.

“I have to talk with Mister Brown alone,” Brookstreet said, shifting slightly, a hint for the others to leave. 

Clara glared at Randall, “I am not going to leave!”

“Please, Clara,” he begged, but she stayed put. 

“Miss Oswald-”

“-No! Whatever he will suggest, it only can be the most stupid thing,” she was in a mix of calm and outrages, and aside Randall didn’t know her that long, he could very well guess this was the most dangerous state of her. “The thing is, it’s probably the only thing that will do, right? Putting you in the line, and if it fails…”

Randall swallowed, turning to Brookstreet, “Could you give us a moment?”

The Inspector nodded, and joined the others outside, not without a snide comment by Freddie, “Did she kick out Scotland Yard?”

“Yes,” was all he said, and they all smiled together.

“Clara,” Randall stepped up to her, reaching for her hands. “I know it’s dangerous, and I can imagine what the Inspector will suggest, but if we don’t do it, we’re all in danger, and you know-”

“-I know, you can’t have that,” she clasped her hands around his, looking up to him. “I should have never started this story.”

“Be quiet! It was the right thing to do, and you know it,” he leaned down and gave her a soft kiss. “When this is over, I will resign, so you can keep your job, and no! Don’t even argue! I will, and then I’ll take you onto a vacation. Paris, Spain, wherever you like. Doing normal things, and not this. Would that be something?”

Clara stroke gently over Randall’s cheek, almost afraid to admit that this it was she had dreamed of the last few days. Having an off time with him, finally talking with him about their future, finally able to find out more about each other, something that had fallen by the wayside way too long. She gave him a long kiss, holding him tight, “That would be something.”

The clearing of a throat pulled them apart, “Sorry to interrupt, but we should go on in our plans.”

“Of course,” Randall nodded, pressing a last kiss onto Clara’s hand. “What’s the plan?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure if some of you guys know who Tom Clancy is, he was very famous for writing political, espionage thrillers, and I have never ever read anything from him. Ha! Also, I saw some movies. 
> 
> Next update, as soon as possible, and sorry for the long wait!


	27. 27_Charade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall and the Newspaper Band give into the demands of Saxon, to shut down the magazine, while working in secret around the special issue that should bring him and the people he works for to fall. Really in secret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We slowly coming to an end with this fic.

Carefully Randall shoved his two wooden Elephants, which usually stood on his desk, into the grey box with the rest of his personal belongings, he didn't want to leave behind in the office.

It was a charade they were about to play, he knew, but it felt like a real goodbye to him already. Maybe because he had decided to leave the magazine, and to resign from his job, afterwards. Whatever afterwards, would be. A good and positive outcome wasn't guaranteed, so much could go wrong.

Sighing, he let his eyes wander once more through his office, finding Clara stand by the door. Holding her own box, gently smiling at him. He smiled back, aware she had become the light in his life, in all the darkness.

Placing the box onto a chair, she walked over him, and hugged him from behind, "You look sad."

“I am,” he said, placing his hand over hers.

“It’s not permanently, you know that,” she pressed her face against his jacket, taking in his scent. “We’ll come back.”

Randall couldn’t but chuckle over her positive spirit. Yes, if everything went according to plan, they would come back, “It’s dangerous, we can’t know for sure. Nothing is ever sure.”

It pained her to hear it from him, even she knew he was right. There were no guarantees in life, for nothing and nobody. That’s what made her think he not only meant the job.

“I am not letting you go, in case you think that.”

He turned around in her embrace and smiled at her, “I am not letting you go either.”

She gave him a kiss, a reassuring one, in try to tell him, whatever he believed, that, in the end, it would end well. It had to. Somehow they would fix it.

The countdown was ticking down, and as spoken, they had sent out the last printed issue for this week, with a short announcement, that the magazine would close down for an uncertain amount of time. They tried to be more vague as clear, to not damage the reputation too much, as they wanted to come back.

It might be a good move to do as they would give in into Saxon's demands – if it was a clever one, only time would tell.

Randall had thought about it over and over again, tossing about in his bed, Clara telling him to let go of it — at least for just a few hours. He couldn't, only pure exhaustion made him sleep early in the morning for a couple of hours before he returned to the office taking care of his usual job and mulling over the problems in the back of his head.

Saxon was a clever man and so Randall thought, maybe he knew. Maybe he knew about their collaboration with Scotland Yard, about a plan that had not the best chances of succeeding anyway, about them playing a game. In Randall's head, Saxon knew everything, and just waited like a spider in a net. Waiting, watching and when they were all in position, he would eat them one by one. The Newspaper Band gone.

They all saw how worried he was, that he didn't sleep much and that if anything would happen, Randall would give himself the fault, despite Randall never voiced his worries explicitly to anyone.

It knocked on the door, Bel holding a pot with a plant in hand, what made Randall and Clara frown in amusement at her.

“What? It’s the only thing worth saving. It has to be watered regularly, and it was a present from a good friend, so I am not letting it sit here,” she explained.

“I didn’t know you were that carrying about plants,” Randall watched her for a moment, wishing he had a camera to take a picture.

“I don’t, it’s the only one I have,” she looked at the green bush for a moment, and then placed it onto a chair aside Clara’s box. “I don’t even know the name of it. Anyway, are you guys ready?”

“I think we are,” Clara grabbed her box, turning back to Randall. “Okay?” Randall nodded and shared a glance with Bel, seeing she wanted to talk with him alone for a moment. Clara saw the exchange too, and smiled, “I’ll wait with Danny in my office.”

“Thank you,” Randall kept his eyes on her till she had vanished out of his sight, turning then to Bel. “Lix did give it to you, didn’t she? The plant.”

“Yes, she did,” Bel smirked. “Short before she left. Told me I had to take good care of it. And so I did.”

Bel didn’t talk about the plant, Randall guessed that and he smiled at her, “You did. I am fine.”

“No, you're not. You're a mess, and I am very grateful Clara is with you at night because otherwise I would sleep at your place, making sure, you don't do a stupid thing," Bel closed the door behind her, before stepping up to him. "Sometimes I can hear you think, while I sit in my office, typing down an article."

“Can you? You should let get your hearing checked, as it is a scientific impossibility,” he grabbed the box and held it in front of himself, bringing a barrier between her and him.

“Oh, don’t you close up on me!” Bel grabbed the box from him and placed it back onto the table, not without making Randall look rather aghast. “I can see how the worries are about to eat you up, how you almost believe more in a failure as in a success. It’s not good, because of all of us. _You_ have to believe the most in it.”

“I know!" he blurted. "Don't you think I don't know? I tried to think positive about it, but how can I? Nothing that has happened till now was anything good. Not one single thing! Clara's attack. The bomb threat. The bomb attack! Danny and Clara could have died and now there is a chance, we -"

“-Yes, fine! I get it!" she interrupted. "I know you have seen terrible stuff in your life. In Croatia, and all the other countries you ran away to when something bad has happened in your life. What Saxon did to you, it must, of course, have left an impression. It's what he wanted because he knows you, and he plays with you and with us. He knows your fears, and that is what you are, correct? You are afraid, aren't you?"

Randall stared at Bel the longest time. His face was stern and unemotional like always, but underneath he was about to erupt. He was seething and discussing with himself how to react to her words — if it was good to react at all.

Then suddenly he sighed and turned away from her to one of the bookshelves, "I underrated you, as it seems. I underrated you as my friend."

“Happens to the best of us.”

“I am afraid, and it eats me up because I can't lose anyone of you — most of all Clara," he turned back to her, his walls stripped down a little now, allowing Bel to take a look into the mess he was. "It's hard to tell myself that this will work because nothing ever worked out the way I wanted it in my life. Not with Lix or Sofia, or any other person I was fond of. So, Bel, why should it end good, now?"

“Because we believe in it,” she stepped up to him. “Because this time, it’s not only you, it’s us, we are a team, the Newspaper Band. We make it work, but for that, you have to trust in us, in our team. You lead, we follow, but we can’t follow when you are about to give up.”

Randall closed his eyes, listening to the ticking of a clock in the room, and to his own heartbeat, “I’ll resign after this.”

“I thought so,” Bel lowered her head slightly. Seeing him with Clara, and seeing him be happy around her, led her to the certainty that he would leave as soon as possible, to make the permanent contract work for Clara and foremost giving them a chance to be together.

Her first impulse was to tell him, there was no need to do it, they would find a way to make them both stay, but Bel knew, in the end, people would think Clara had some sort of bonus and Randall would hate such situation. So she had said nothing. Randall was a grown up and he knew best what was good for him. He could look back at a long and successful career, there was nothing he would miss out.

Randall looked at her, reading in her, "Tell me, at least, you were mad at me for like five minutes deciding this."

She gave him a grin, “Oh, I was mad at you for more than that. Ten minutes at least! I really don’t know what to do without you as my Head of News. Lix was right, you are brilliant, the best one we could get. But it’s your choice and when I see you with Clara I see you being happy, and that is all that matters in the end.”

“I don’t deserve a friend like you,” Randall went to take her plant of the chair and gave it to her. “I’ll promise I’ll trust you. You and the others, and even if I have my doubts, I will believe in a success for you guys.”

Bel took the plant from him and nodded, “It’s a start. So, now, come on. Let’s get out of here.”

So, Danny, Bel, Randall and Clara carried their little belongings out of the house in the late evening, believing strongly they all been watched doing it. Saxon would read it in the papers the next day, but giving him some visual proof might make him believe the trick.

As discussed, they separated from there on. Only to meet up later over their computers, they all had checked with some gadgets they have gotten from Brookstreet to block any virus or program that tried to infiltrate them, and kept working around the special issue they wanted to release one week later.

They had decided not to meet each other till everything was done, except via Skype or chat, it was the best way to keep up the illusion while working in secret.

Aside the low-key announcement of the magazine's eventual financial problems, the press quickly caught up and made much fuss about it for about two days. It stung not only in Randall's heart.

“If we fail, the magazine goes down in disgrace,” he told Clara while throwing the papers away.

“Good thing is, we won’t fail,” she kissed the tip of his nose, walking to the kitchen to refill her mug with coffee. “Have you finished the articles Bel has sent over?”

Randall rubbed his tired eyes. He had read over several, endless seeming pages, even forgetting about drinking, if Clara wouldn’t have reminded him here and there to drink something.

“Yes, I have, you have some others for me?”

Clara returned with two mugs of coffee, holding one out to Randall while smiling guiltily at him, "Yes, sorry. Danny sent some over too."

It was not Randall’s way, but he groaned over the information. He was overworked and tired, it was only four days left and they had heard nothing of Saxon. Not that he had expected any approval, like a phone call or a worse a visit, telling them that daddy was proud Randall had obeyed. He surely knew the magazine was going down, and it would play into Saxon’s hands to let them live in the dark about his future plans.

Randall was sure Saxon felt a perverse joy while imagining them of how they would turn around, in fear, every time they crossed the street. Fear was a strong concept. To this day, many countries were ruled by just this premise.

They hadn't heard from the Inspector either, and they had to remind each other over the limited telephone conferences they had, that it was to their own safety and that they had to trust that the Inspector and Scotland Yard were working on all the necessary things to back up their plan.

Two days before they planned to launch the issue, Randall finally left the house to do some necessary grocery shopping and get some fresh air into his lungs. He had left the apartment before, but only to go get the newspapers, the rest was all work and Clara had taken care of ordering food every night. But after the bread had gone out and also the milk for the coffee, Randall had decided he should take a long necessary break, at least, for an hour. They had worked hard and except little details, the special issue was about ready to go out.

Randall decided to stroll down the road, knowing there were a Tesco and a Sainsbury's on the way, maybe a half mile. His legs appreciated his need for a walk, and he even could bring himself to enjoy the bit of sun that was shining through the clouds.

When he reached the shop, he took his time, aside milk and some bread he picked out almost random stuff. Some biscuits here, a bit of chocolate there, an instant iced espresso from the cooling shelf thinking Clara might like it, a lifestyle magazine he usually never read, but after all, this time, he was almost aching for useless and nonsense information.

And so it went on and on, till his bag was full and he wondered if the week of not joining civilization had made him completely useless.

“One could think, you're having a mid-life crisis, or so," a voice told him suddenly while he stood in front of the cereal section. Randall turned on instinct toward the man, quickly recognizing him as Inspector Brookstreet. He was not wearing any special disguise, just a baseball hat and some jacket from Manchester United, a little basket in hand.

When Randall turned toward him, the Inspector stepped forward and reached toward a pack of cereals, “Or how are you going to explain all the chocolate?”

Randall smirked, watching an older lady pass by, “How did you know I would be here?”

“We are watching you, what do you think? I am very glad your girlfriend likes to order in, gives us the possibility to check on you without you noticing,” the Inspector placed the box away again and walked a couple of steps to another section.

Randall followed him. He guessed, the delivery people that appeared on their doorstep every night, had been exchanged by men and women of the Yard, “Shall I tell Clara to stop giving such horrendous tip then? I’ve heard, once, officers are not allowed to take gifts.”

The Inspector chuckled, “Indeed. Is everything going by plan?”

“So far, yes. The work is mostly done, just some last editing,” Randall explained, his face directed toward the ground. When the Inspector said nothing for a couple of seconds, Randall looked up, and for a moment, it was to him, as if Brookstreet was worried. Genuinely worried. Something in his guts twisted, but Randall blamed it on the fact that he was all too worried about everything since he was with Clara.

“Could you publish?” Brookstreet then asked.

“Freddie told me, I just have to send him a message over the phone, and it would be done,” Randall shrugged. “Why?”

“Just in case.”

“Just in case?” Randall snapped. “What’s that supposed to mean? You are up to something, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you worry,” the Inspector decided then for some Fruit Loops. “It’s better to keep you in the vague. What you don’t know, you can’t spill. You still have the phone I gave you?”

“Yes, I do, will you call me?” Randall urged to know, but the Inspector just placed the cereals into his basket without answering the question.

“Good day, and greetings to Miss Oswald.”

Randall watched the Inspector leave the aisle, and with a frustrated sigh, he went to pay his own items. The encounter with the Inspector had turned his good mood into anger. Having an inner monologue all the way home about the encounter and the feeling in his guts that only had become worse, he reached his apartment in an unnerved state. The urge to tell Clara to back her things, and then to come with him, to run away with him had never been bigger.

Placing the shopping aside, he took off his shoes, and placed his jacket on the hanger, “Clara?” Randall fumbled the instant iced espresso out of the bag, shaking it. “I bought you this espresso thing, you like so much, and guess who I met in the cereal section-”

The plastic mug of the espresso fell out of Randall’s hand, bumping onto the ground without breaking, before rolling away toward the shelf with the books and the records.

Randall’s body congealed on the spot, all his muscle tense and sheer horror rushing through his body, over the sight of Clara sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, her hands and feet tied and her mouth covered with duct tape. Aside her Harold Saxon, patting her shoulders with a devilish grin — in one hand a gun.

“Hello, Mister Brown, so nice meeting you again,” he bowed a bit down to Clara. “See, I told you his face would be priceless, dear Clara.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update as soon as possible!


	28. 28_Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are the good guys and the bad guys. Everyone has a plan. In the middle of it the Newspaper Band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't abandoned this story! I just have a busy time and I have to admit I needed long to work out this chapter and what would happen next. First I only wanted to write it with only Randall and Clara, but this story is not only about our two lovers but since a long while about Bel, Freddie and Danny, and so I think, they should be there too, because we slowly reach the finale. 
> 
> I wanted to write more, but time is short these days, and so I give you what I have for the moment and hope to write another chapter over the weekend.

 

“Freddie? Freddie!” Bel called toward the bathroom where Freddie was taking a shower.

“God, what is it?" Freddie turned off the shower and opened the sliding door. "If it is not an emergency, you have to wait five minutes."

Bel smirked, peeking into the bathroom, not shy glancing over Freddies naked body, "I am starving. What is an emergency. We need to order food, so what do you want?"

Quickly he grabbed a towel and bent it around his waist, "What about-?"

The doorbell interrupted them, and they both shared a questioning look. They all had agreed on not visiting each other, and only to make phone calls if necessary. All their communications went over Skype or a chat program.

“Do we expect anyone?” Freddie asked.

“No, maybe it's just the postman, or Mrs. Monroe, who has locked herself out again," Bel shrugged and went to the door. "And think about what you want to eat, if I don't get something soon, I might faint."

With a bright smile, Bel opened up the door, not to find the postman nor Mrs. Monroe in front of it, "You? What has happened?"

“Miss Rowley, can I come in? I need to talk to Mister Lyon.”

“Who is it?” Freddie emerged out of the bathroom, clothes thrown over, hair wet, when he spotted the visitor, “Inspector? What is going on? What has happened?”

“Mister Lyon,” the Inspector stepped in, giving them both a meaningful look, “it’s time to send out the special issue.”

#

“Clara-,” Randall wanted to step forward, but Saxon forbid it with a swing of his gun. “Are you okay?” he instead asked, keeping his eyes on Clara.

She quickly nodded, and he could see she was startled and afraid, but it seemed Saxon hadn't done anything to her. Gritting his teeth, Randall felt rage begin to fill him up, "If you have done anything to her-"

“-I haven’t! And she just has said so,” Saxon stepped away from Clara, giving one of his henchmen, who was with him, the gun, “Well, not said. Ah, those duct tapes! They are really, really good. Did you know you can tape a human being against a wall with just one roll?”

Saxon turned to his helper, as if he expected an answer, then back to Randall and then bowed over to Clara, "Fine, not a fact that seems to be interesting. But! I have some other facts; I am sure, you Mister Brown, will find them absolutely satisfying."

“What is it you want, Saxon?" Randall had balled his hands so tight, that it physically hurt, but the pain was the only thing that held him back and not to try to attack Saxon, what inevitably would lead to someone firing a gun.

“What I want?" Saxon began. "Or should we say, what I wanted… ." He started slowly to stroll around the room. "One question, Randall. Do you think I am stupid?"

Randall couldn’t say where he took the dare to say, “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

It made Saxon chuckled, “I like you,” he pointed at him, before rubbing over his face, “and that’s why I am so disappointed. Because _you_ obviously must have thought _, I am_ stupid.”

Saxon stopped by the kitchen table, where Clara's laptop stood - shut. Randall guessed, Saxon had knocked politely at the door, Clara had stopped working, had shut it down, and had gone to open the door up for him.

Waiting deliberately a few more seconds, Saxon watched Randall. To see how the fear slowly replaced his anger and then he opened the laptop. The gadget flared to life, revealing a page of the special issue. 

There Randall knew, that Saxon knew. He probably knew from the beginning, and just had let them do. Had watched them from somewhere, how they worked their arses off, how they almost never slept and worked till exhaustion. 

Yes, Randall could imagine Saxon sitting in an armchair, chuckling and maniacally grinning over the Newspaper Band, how they tried and tried, but were doomed to fail anyway. Like puppets on a string.

With a huff, the younger man sat down, scrolling through the content, as if he was about to read the online morning issue. Sometimes he sighed, at times he smirked at something, "Oh, there is a typo, and a missing comma." He made a smacking sound with his mouth like an arrogant teacher and Randall felt the need to hit him only for that.

It was a shame, how aggressive Saxon made him because Randall was all but an aggressive person. All the contrary. The last time Randall Brown had hit a man, was twenty years ago when he was reporting in Croatia. A soldier who had been drunk, and had caused trouble, trying to lay hands on Lix. He had been drunk himself, and Lix had to stop him, to not beat the man to death.

A manipulating maniac Saxon was, and he had done nothing else in his life. It was his job to find peoples weak spots, and when he had found them, he would use his skills to relentlessly harrow his victims, till they either did what he wanted or till they broke apart — in what way ever. Randall was sure, Saxon was able to topple him back into drinking. He would be dead within a year — killed by the alcohol. People would only blame Randall, but never Saxon. Saxon would vanish again, like a ghost. Like he had done so many times before. Saxon, a Master in his doings.

For a moment, Randall considered Saxon when he was not looking. For one second, he thought he might had a chance, not because he was smart or stronger, or had a plan — Randall had none — but because he saw what Saxon was, what talents he had, what kind of person he was. Not even power-hungry, more likely evil because being evil was fun. Maybe that would help him to play against Saxon.

Randall looked over to Clara, who could not see Saxon, as he was behind her. He hoped she was able to read the expression in his eyes, that he was about to work out what to do and that everything was going to be okay.

Suddenly the silence got disturbed by an outburst of anger by Saxon. Grabbing the laptop he threw it against the next wall, where it shattered and crashed down to the floor.

“I am very angry, Randall! I mean, I trusted you,” he stepped onto the crashed device, then returning to the table, where he grabbed a chair and sat aside Clara, placing an arm around her. “I trusted you!”

“A man in your position, trusts no one,” was all was Randall said.

“The funny thing is,” Saxon stroke Clara’s hair, and it pained Randall to see it. Quickly he reminded himself, that it was only to make him mad. To lose focus, “You almost made it. I mean; you all were very clever, I can’t deny that. The news about shutting down your office, and your magazine. But you made one mistake, Randall. One tiny mistake, do you want to know, what it was?”

“What?”

“You shouldn't have left the house today," he smiled fondly at Clara before turning it into a sardonic grin and pressing a kiss on her temple. "The problem with Scotland Yard is, that they are not very good at disguise. So in the end, it was actually the Inspector's fault. Not yours," Saxon leaned over to his henchman, to give him back the gun, "but it is you, who will pay the price." Held out to him, Saxon grabbed the pistol, cocked it and placed it against Clara's temple.

“No! No!" Randall jumped forward while Clara's eyes widened in fear. "Please!"

Saxon waited, not looking at Randall, only at Clara. Watching how tears built up in her eyes, slowly flowing down her cheeks. She was shaking.

It had been a stupid mistake of her to open the door uncontrolled. It had knocked, and she had thought it was Randall who might have forgotten his keys or was simply overpacked with the groceries he had wanted to buy. Also, Saxon might had kicked in the door, if she hadn't opened herself.

The man was a creep, but he hadn’t done anything to her, aside threatening her with a gun if she wouldn’t sit down and let one of his men tie her up while they waited for Randall’s return.

The knot around her ankles was tight, but not too tight. Danny once had told her a trick; she couldn't even remember why he had told her, maybe after a day of hard work, when they all had been a little drunk down at the bar. When Danny got drunk, he always served the others with survival tricks. She guessed it was his way of handling his past as a soldier.

“Tense your muscles, that makes them bigger,” he had told her. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

The first time she had been glad about his drunken tips had been during her attack. Not that she had any great ideas back then, but her brain had provided her with a few possible kicks into the attackers croach. The problem was, the man was double her size and had a knife, and Danny never had told her about some tricks for such situation.

Now, when she was able to wriggle here and there a bit, she might be able to get rid of the rope. The only question was, what then?

The gun didn't help, not at all, and she was sure, none of them would survive it. Not that she was a very pessimistic person, but a gun pressed against her temple, ready to be fired, was everything but optimistic. She leaned away, feeling the emotions raise in her. It was hard to admit, but Clara wasn't ready to die. She was way too young, and only now had found a brilliant job and a loving man she really adored and loved. Without having any control over it, she felt tears stream down her face.

“Please!” Randall repeated, he was ready to go on his knees. “I beg you!” His voice cracked.

Saxon slowly turned his head toward him, “What do you want to beg for? You for her? It’s not going to work,” he huffed once more, but took his hand with the gun away, bringing it around Clara again. “Look, you betrayed me. And if I want to punish you — and I definitely want to punish you — I can’t kill _you_. Not first. No, first I kill all your friends, and then I kill you. Or, what I think is even better, I let you kill yourself.”

For a moment Randall zoomed out, only concentrating on Clara. He remembered when she had entered his office for the first time when he had done the job interview with her and Danny. He remembered her smile and her wit. Something in him had sensed her brilliance as a journalist. That she was courageous and clever, and he had liked her. That they would later get involved, he would have never dreamt off at that time.

He saw them in bed, fooling around, she on top of him, laughing, her hair falling down, tickling his face. Them being happy. There he had promised to himself; he would do anything to make her happy, to show her how much he loved her.

“We delete it,” Randall then began, just saying what came to his mind, only to realize that the special issue was the only thing he had in hand as a trump card. “You let her live, I delete it. Otherwise, … when you kill them, what would possibly stop me, to publish it? I go down, you go down too.”

Saxon pursed his lips, before standing up so fast, that the stool fell backward. Clara and Randall winced over the noise, "If you think, you can come out of this, unharmed, you are wrong. You will not publish this; I will not allow it, and if I have to torture your friends to death in front of you, to make it clear to you — I most certainly will."

Fear.

_That it was,_ Randall thought, that it was, what could play into his hands. That Harold Saxon feared for his stand in the organization he worked for. If the men he used to work for fell, Saxon would be the first to go down with them. Aside, Randall was sure, Saxon had a plan. A country to flee to, a bank account filled with enough money for two lives. A life away from trouble, and no one would ever find him. The only problem there was, Saxon didn't want to flee into a boring life. He had way too much fun, causing trouble, killing people and play hide and seek with the law.

And then there was a knock on the door.

Everyone in the room looked up and if the situation wouldn't have been so dangerous it would have been an almost comical moment.

“Do you expect anyone?” Saxon barked, still angry, disturbed in his trail of thoughts. He didn’t like surprises. And there had been way too many surprises in the last few weeks. 

Randall shook his head, and then it knocked again. More persistent this time, “Randall? Clara! It’s me, Danny!”

Randall and Clara shared a glance. Something was up.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I update as soon as I can. Thanks for staying around, I still think I fucked up this story more as I wanted. Maybe I am just overrun by my own story which has developed its own life long ago. And now I am battling for the control of it ;).


	29. 29_Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation between Saxon and the Newspaper Band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, big sorry, for needing forever to write this chapter, but as it is rather long, I'd say I am good, also I wrote you the next chapter also, and also published it. 
> 
> Second, those are the final chapters, and when you think this will all be over after whatever will happen in Randall's flat, you are wrong.

_**Earlier** _

The Inspector watched Randall leave the store to walk slowly home. Placing his own basket somewhere to the side — he didn’t need anything of the stuff he had packed — he stepped outside the store, reaching for his phone. He hadn’t asked Randall without reasons, how quick the publishment could be done.

While Randall and his people had worked around the magazine, he and his people at the Yard had worked around Harold Saxon and his criminal implications with Kensington Industries and his connections with a few people in politics.

Brookstreet wasn’t stupid; he knew Saxon would have an eye on the Newspaper Band, what was good, because while he was looking at them, he wasn’t looking behind himself. Where Scotland Yard had laid out a net, ready to trap him, and a dozen other people. High in rank and influence.

With the information Freddie Lyon had gathered, not only the department against corruption would be able to lay hands on a few big fish. No, there was also the department for drugs and the costume authorities who already rubbed their hands greedily to put hands on individual suspects.

The Inspector knew the organisation Saxon and all the others stood for. A long time not by name, but he had seen enough people vanish — some for good, others to be found weeks later. He had worked with people who wanted to go in front of a jury to talk about everything. It never took long till those people suddenly died. Carcrash. Heart attack.

None of them had the information they now had, and it was a wonder Randall and all the others were still alive. He guessed it was because they had worked as a team very quickly, making the right decisions to put the information and place it on a network they all could reach. Killing one, wouldn’t stop the others, rather impel them, and this was new to Brookstreet, and certainly also new to Saxon.

It was not just one person, it was a group of individuals, skilled and smart, and aside none of them wanted to die, they were ready to take the risk to bring out the truth.

Brookstreet dialed the number of Danny Pink, who sat at home, sipping coffee. He hadn’t slept much the last few days and also hadn’t shaved for a couple of days.

“Danny Pink,” he reached for his phone when an unknown number showed up.

“Mister Pink, this is Inspector Brookstreet, how fast can you be over at Randall Brown’s apartment?” the Inspector asked.

“Twenty minutes maybe, why?” Danny anticipated no good news. “What has happened.”

“You have to go there, now, and you have to make sure you will be let in,” the Inspector walked in the other direction Randall had gone, stepping into a waiting car, that then took off with him. “I have to warn you, Mister Brown and Miss Oswald will not be alone, but it is important you will show up.”

Danny didn’t understand, aside that it would be dangerous, “What do you want me to say? And, where you will be?”

#

“Send him away!” Saxon demanded, pointing at his henchman. "Or he will shoot him through the damn door.”

Randall slowly turned around, hearing Danny knock over and over against the wooden door, “Danny, you have to come back later.”

“It’s Freddie!” Danny said instead, being briefed by Brookstreet. “He is gone!”

Randall hesitated, unsure what to do, he turned half back to the others, “What do you mean?”

“He is gone!” Danny only repeated, and added, after a few seconds, "He has taken the issue with him. I think he will publish it without our consent.”

This made Saxon listen up, “What? Let him in! Slowly.”

Randall slowly opened the door, finding an exhausted Danny in front, “Danny…”

“I know,” was all he whispered before Randall opened the door completely revealing Clara and Saxon. “What is going on here?”

Saxon’s henchman stepped up to the door, pushed Randall aside, and grabbed for Danny’s arm, shoving him inside and toward Saxon.

“Mister Pink, I presume,” Saxon turned for a moment to Clara, who was still kept silent with the duct tape over her mouth. “Oh, now, we are so many, I think it’s time to release you from this,” and ripped it off with a hard motion. Clara winced under the pain but was happy to have her voice back.

“You okay?” Randall immediately asked.

“Yes, I am okay,” Clara said.

“Shut up you two!” Saxon interrupted, turning to Danny. “What do you mean Mister Lyon is gone?”

“I got a phone call, from Miss Rowley,” Danny began to explain. “She was mad as hell. She said she was taking a shower, and told Freddie to order food, and the next thing she knew was that he was gone. As it seems, he has locked the cloud, where we have all the data. At least, I have no more access.”

Randall couldn’t exactly know what was up, but he was aware that something was and as he couldn’t be sure if Freddie not really had left — and this move could be all so Freddie-like — he told himself to believe what Danny told him, “No access?” If it was true, the panic in his chest was more than valid. He turned to Saxon, “Let me check my laptop.”

Saxon considered the situation if Freddie Lyon had left, with the intention of publishing, his plan was useless, “Where is it?”

“In the bedroom.”

“Follow him,” Saxon ordered and waited till Randall came back with his laptop, placing it there where Clara’s had stood.

With a few clicks he turned to the side, where they had stored away all the data and the drafts for the digital issue. Indeed, everything was locked or deleted, “It’s true,” Randall turned the laptop.

“Why would he do that?” Clara asked, looking first at Randall, then at Danny.

“You know how he is!” Danny burst out; he was exhausted and angry. “He is reckless, and never trusted us. I can’t believe he did this. We were so close!”

“Freddie is a good man,” Randall interrupted, not sure what his intentions were, but he assumed it was about winning time.

“A good man? Taking down the work, locking us out? Bringing danger to the whole project? He will need at least one more week to finish it; that’s ages! He ruined everything; he is not a good man!” Danny approached Randall, his exhaustion wasn’t played at all. He hadn’t slept well for weeks and had too much coffee all the time in his veins. “He had secrets all the time. And now, he apparently doesn’t care that we are all in trouble because of this! ”

“Would you all shut up!” Saxon yelled unnerved. "I should kill you all, right away!”

Randall turned, “I assume you know, this will not solve the problem."

Saxon took a deep breath, before stepping up, and punched him hard in his almost broken ribs. The pain brought Randall down to his knees with a grunt, and Danny wanted to interrupt but got held back by Saxon holding up the gun. Randall himself waved him away. Tears running down his cheek, he held his chest. He was sure, at least one rib was broken by now.

“That was for your sass,” Saxon spit. "And now you're going to tell me where Freddie Lyon is, or I swear to god, I let my man beat you up so long till your face is nothing more as pulp.”

“He doesn’t know!” Clara wriggled on her stool. “How can he? We all haven’t met since days, and you know that! Freddie is a good undercover journalist, he is either hiding in town or has left London already.”

Saxon glared at her, knowing she could be right, “What we are going to do now, is; calling him, and he better answers, because if not, dear Miss Oswald, your boyfriend dies.”

Randall, still on the floor, groaned, he wasn’t able to stand up by himself, and decided just to lean against the sofa, “Do you honestly think he will answer the phone? He left his wife without a word.”

Saxon reached for a vase that stood on a sideboard and smashed it against the same wall he had thrown the laptop at. In this speed the half apartment would be razed to the ground by him, Randall thought.

“You haven’t expected this, right?” Randall began, breathing heavily. “You thought, they all rely on me and my word. My command. And now, you see your future breaking away because you know that no one can stop Mister Lyon anymore. Everything will come out, won’t it? The politicians and industrialists, you work for, who are involved in corruption, fraud and money laundering, only to name minor things, will be exposed and you will the first name they spill out, isn’t it so?”

“You think, you are smart, Mister Brown, don't you?" Saxon knelt in front of him, pressing one hand against his side, making him shake in pain. “No one will ever get to me. Yes, you might bring them down, those idiots who pay me to keep their vests clean, but when I am finished with you three here, I will go to Miss Rowley, and kill her too. And then, till Mister Lyon has understood what had happened, I am gone. Vanished, before your special issue has hit the market. Your Mister Lyon has obviously believed to be the hero of the day, leaving you all out. You want news? Here are the news; you've been betrayed.”

“Leave him alone!” Clara yelled, and finally she was able to slip her hands out of the rope, lunging forward toward Saxon.

A short struggle happened, but Saxon was stronger and his henchman quick too, grabbing Clara from behind, lifting her off the floor under her yells and her kicking around. One kick hit Saxon in the face, and blood ran down his cheek.

“Bastard!”

“Clara, no!” Randall called from the floor, coughing blood. Danny saw it and jumped to his side. Quickly he laid Randall flat on the floor, believing one of the broken ribs had punctured his lung.

“Bitch!” Saxon slapped Clara in the face, then he turned to his man, “Get her out. To the car,” and then shifted to Randall and Danny, “We will sink her dead body in the river.”

“No!” Randall tried to stand up, but the pain didn’t let him. “Clara!”

Clara called for Randall, trying to free herself from the grip, but it was useless. She wasn’t strong enough, and while Saxon held Danny in place with the gun, Randall had to watch how Clara got carried away.

“Please!”

“There is no more ‘Please’!” ordering Danny to sit on the stool, Saxon took the rope to tie him up, but this time, he lead the rope around the neck of Danny, so when he would try to struggle himself free, he would strangle himself. “But don’t worry, you’ll join her soon in the afterlife.”

So, this was it then? The end. Whatever the plan had been, it had gone wrong, Randall couldn’t explain it otherwise. He couldn’t really move, and with his wounds he wouldn’t be able to overbear Saxon, and Danny wasn’t able too. Saxon could cut their throats, leave, kill Clara and Bel, and even if the issue came out now, they all would be dead. He would never see Clara again.

And then Danny began to laugh. First slowly and then louder, leading to Saxon and Randall look at him, as if he had gone crazy.

“What’s so funny, Mister Pink?”

“Everything,” his laughing started to become a laughing fit. Inappropriate, but Danny couldn’t stop himself from doing so. He was to overwhelm and sleep deprived. “Everything is. You mostly!”

“Danny?” Randall was confused. “What’s going on?”

“Check my pockets,” Danny whispered, still laughing, “You made a mistake, Mister Saxon.”

Saxon frowned, and then rummaged through Danny’s inside pocket of his jacket, finding a phone there. It was on, and there was a stable connection with an unknown number.

“It’s for you,” Danny explained, the rope around his neck, getting tighter.

Saxon pressed the red button on the phone and let it drop to the ground. He had walked right into a trap. For a moment no one moved, Saxon was like frozen, and then everything happened very fast. Yanking up the gun, Saxon pointed it at Danny’s head. They both stopped breathing, and Danny’s eyes fell shut.

Randall watched the scene happen from the floor, trying to move forward, but what could he do? “Don’t!”

He only saw the back of Saxon, hearing him cocking the gun when he saw three little red dots travel over his body. A single shot echoed through the room, a window breaking and a door kicked open, when Harold Saxon fell to the ground, groaning with pain.

Only in a blur, Randall could see that half a dozen people from Scotland Yard, including Inspector Brookstreet, stormed into the flat. Two took care of Saxon, who laid shot into the chest on the floor, bleeding. One freed Danny and the rest secured the other rooms in the flat.

It was a big hubbub, and suddenly Randall felt a hand on his head, caressing him. A whisper, “It’s okay, I am here. Randall? Can you hear me? I am okay.”

“Clara?”

“Yes, I am here.”

“I thought I never see you again,” Randall whispered, reaching for her hand.

“Mister Brown?” it was the Inspector, kneeling aside him while two of his man secured Saxon on a stretcher for the ambulance. The wound wasn’t crucial; he would survive it all. And the way he tried to fight his way off the stretcher reassured everyone in the room that Saxon would be fine until the trial against him and many others would begin.

“You have nothing in hand!” Saxon yelled. “Nothing! 24 hours, and I am free again!”

“I wouldn’t think so, Mister Saxon,” Brookstreet came over to him, pulling out a smartphone, and holding it toward his face. “Because you are just hitting the news.”

The special issue had been released.

“Take him away!” Brookstreet turned to Danny, who rubbed his neck, and gave the man a slap on the arm. “Well done, Mister Pink, well done. Former Soldier, you should work for us not the News.”

“No, thank you,” Danny coughed. “This job is exciting enough. I am just glad you were here.”

“As promised, I told you I would be right around the corner,” he smirked and then turned to Randall. “The ambulance will take you to the hospital. Don’t dare to die on my Mister Brown!”

Randall smirked, the pain was horrible, and the taste of blood in his mouth wasn’t a good sign, but he had the feeling it was not his end, “My plans are different ones."

He pressed Clara’s hand when they took him away into the ambulance, and Clara followed without letting go of him.

“What happened?” he whispered after the medics had taken care of him, and had secured him in the truck. “I was sure they were going to kill you.”

“You were not the only one thinking that,” Clara brushed through his hair, leaning in close. “The Inspector had waited outside. It seems the Yard did know what would happen, and when the guy had dragged me outside, they got hold of him and freed me. I am sure, Brookstreet will tell us later everything about it. At the moment I am just happy, you are okay. How do you feel?”

“Awful,” he smirked, “but with you by my side, I don’t care. Clara? Come with me! When all this is over, when they made me okay again, come with me. Away. A holiday, just you and me. For as long as possible. Will you?”

Clara pressed many kisses onto his face before she placed a long and hard kiss on his mouth. The answer couldn’t be a clearer yes.

After the doctor had looked at him, it was evident Randall didn’t need surgery. Luckily his lungs hadn’t been punctured, the blood had resulted through minor injuries in his stomach, that needed medical attention but no surgery. It was suggested to stay in the hospital for a day or two, to watch over him.

Danny got examined too, checking for any injuries around his throat. As he was also fine, he was good to go.

When all the doctors had them left alone, the Newspaper Band met in Randall’s room. Freddie and Bel had showed up, shortly after they had heard about Saxon’s arrest.

Hugs and kisses were shared, and they all listened to Inspector Brookstreet, who told them the background story of what had happened.

“I knew that Saxon and his men were watching you, Mister Brown,” the inspector had changed the baseball cap and jacket against a coat, his police badge showing at his belt. “I approached you deliberately in the store, showing off that you stood in contact with us. While you all worked hard on the special issue, we did the work in the background. Phoning with people, in different countries, setting up special units, talking to the crown prosecutor, basically doing all the paperwork and placing our figures in place on the global chessboard.

“I had talked with Mister Lyon, shortly after you left me, and phoned with Mister Pink at the same time, telling him, he had to show up at your apartment. Mister Lyon was there to release the data, and had to serve as the traitor of the group. I knew Mister Saxon was familiar with the group's members, and at it was you, Mister Lyon, who had initiated all this, the choice I made was logical.

"It was also logical to sent in Mister Pink, a former soldier. I knew I could rely on you, being the subject that would bring in confusion and would distract Saxon good enough.”

Clara interrupted, “You mean, you distracted Saxon from killing Randall and me.”

“Miss Oswald, you are very clever, and indeed, I ventured a lot and also your lives, and I am terrible sorry. But I think you know, it was the only way I was able to go. Mister Saxon would have killed you so or so. When he had found out about the publishing, he would have gone on a vendetta, I wouldn’t have been able to save you from. The Yard needed him where we could lay a hand on him, and we needed him to do something that could get him behind bars.

“Mister Saxon’s involvement in the Kensington Industries scandal are complicated and will be hard to prove. In this time, he would have been not in jail but out there, able to pull strings and make preparations for his escape. Now, I have him in prison for trespass, blackmail and most important attempted murder. Mister Saxon, will be in custody long enough, till our experts have entangled everything else. Foremost, I am sure, Mister Saxon will be cooperative, telling us names and facts, so he might see daylight once again before he reaches the high age of 70.”

Freddie, who had his phone in hand, scrolling through the news feed, turned it and held it toward the others, “As it seems all over the globe a lot of people get arrested right now.”

“Screams Pulitzer to me,” Brookstreet chuckled. “You all did an excellent job. It was extraordinary. A one in a lifetime thing. I have to congratulate you all.”

Randall thanked the Inspector, and they agreed all to come to the Yard over the next few days to testify about it all. Then he left them alone after shaking Randall's hand.

“That was good work, people,” Randall shuffled around in the bed, glancing from one to the other. “I am proud of you all. A tough time lays behind us, and I admit I wasn’t sure this would end well, but because of you all, we did something great,” he then reached for Clara’s hand, before adding; "I will not return, Bel, I think you know.”

“What do you mean?” it was Clara who asked. “Are you talking about resigning?”

“Yes,” he smirked more toward Bel and the others as toward Clara. A few months ago, he would have never allowed them to witness this scene, him opening up, him showing his love for a woman all openly. “It’s no secret, but I love you, and I can’t be your Head of News and your… “

“... boyfriend,” Bel prompted.

“Boyfriend,” he nodded at her. “It’s against policy.”

“No, no, no,” Clara answered hectically. "I will not allow you to give up this job. I said it’s no problem to leave for me. I'll find another job.”

“I don’t want that,” Randall said. “I want to be with you, and I want you to have an honest chance for a career. Mine is over; I had one. Now, this magazine is the best place to be. I am sure, not only Mister Pink will get his contract, but you also. Besides, I am sure, Miss Rowley is looking here and there for another freelancer.”

“It’s paid rubbishy, but yes,” Bel smiled, grabbing Freddies hand. “Clara, I’ll give you the contract. No question, and I will make the bosses sign it without hesitation, but they won’t when Randall stays, he is right.”

So Clara accepted, not without asking him for the next hours again and again if it really was okay for him to leave the magazine, and Randall couldn’t be more demand about it.

He had given up so much for his career in the past, all his life long, it was time to do something differently. It was time to stay with Clara, the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to spend as much time as possible and Clara saw it in his eyes that he was content with his choice.

“I love you so much,” she whispered in his ear, when the rest had left, and she had shuffled aside him in the narrow bed. “I thought today I am going to lose you.”

“Everything is fine now, love,” he nuzzled her hair. “As soon as I am out this hospital, and we made our testifies, we leave for a week. Get out of town, rent a cottage somewhere. Just you and me, as promised, how does that sound?”

Already drowsy and very tired, Clara breathed into the crook of his neck, “Lovely.”

Randall watched her fall asleep in his arms and followed her soon into the land of sleep. It was a sleep without dreams. The past weeks had been too tiresome and restless; their bodies didn’t have any energy left for dreaming.

There was just the content feeling in both of them, that now a new future started, together.

And in the morning when they woke up cuddle up and slightly stiff in the narrow bed, they chuckled while they listened to the admonishing words of the nurse, who told “the young lady” that she had to leave the next time.

Clara blushed hard, and also Randall, but the nurse saw she had two lovebirds in front of her, and promised not to say anything to the doctor. An hour later, the doctor confirmed, Randall could leave the hospital, but had to show up for another check up in a couple of days.

“You are free to go, but please, be careful,” the man explained, going through Randall’s file. "If you feel any pain, dizziness or have other problems, please show up here or at your doctor's at home.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Clara got Randall’s clothes out of the locker, “I will make sure he will do nothing stupid.”

“Good to know. Please remember to sign the papers when you leave, by the counter down on the first floor, next to the main entrance,” the doctor chuckled, and then left them alone.

“Are you hungry? I am starving, the breakfast was horrible,” Clara packed his personal items in a small bag, waiting till he got dressed again.

After he had shoved over his jumper slowly and a little awkward, he stepped up to her pulling her into a gentle kiss, “I am sure there is a nice cafe around the corner, and afterwards I decided we need some 'we' time.”

“We time?” Clara cocked an eyebrow at him, nipping at his lower lip. “Naughty Head of News.”

Randall growled, slipping his hand into hers, "Come on, let’s get out of this depressive place."

Clara snickered and let him take her away toward the lift.

Reaching the first floor, Clara turned once again toward him, giving him a kiss on the lips, “I'll get a cab, and you sign the papers. We meet outside.”

“Good,” he smiled against her lips, and watched her walk toward the exit, when he suddenly shouted after her, “Clara!”

“Yes?” she returned with a worried face back to him. “Any problem?”

“Just… you are incredible,” he blushed and shook his head with a grin. He was in love and silly. “I am sorry, I … get used to it, because that is what I am going to tell you now every day.”

Beaming at him, she crooned her neck up, “I promise I’ll listen intently."

After kissing her leisurely for a bit, till an older man cleared his throat loudly aside them, making them grin at each other, Randall went to sign his release papers, and Clara went out to find a cab.

It was the last he saw of her without injuries.

 

In retro perspective, he couldn’t tell what had happened, as he had been busy signing the papers, but later they told him, that it had been unusually busy in the area of the main entrance that was also connected with the emergency area. People mingling, cars parking, cabs coming and going.

That there had been a man being in a heated argument with a woman.

Someone said the woman were threatening the man with something; no one could remember what. A girl talked about a thing she had seen in her hand. That the woman had made the man step into the streets. He ha dn't been aware of the ambulance that was approaching the scene, but Clara was, and so she saved his life, pushing him out of the way.

People started to scream and to run around, and Randall realised it was Clara who had been injured. His Clara.

“Let me through!” he demanded, ignoring the pain in his chest. He found Clara conscious, but in blood, staring at the sky. “Clara?”

“It was you,” she muttered, slowly blinking, now focusing on him -- a blurry picture.

“Me?”

“The magician,” she started to cough, and Randall yelled for the paramedics to hurry up.

They took her quickly to the E.R., but there was no hope left. The ambulance had run into her with much force, breaking not only many bones.

While they tried to save her life, Randall stood by the end of the bed, the blood of her on his clothes, his face by hers, whispering to her that she would make it, that everything was okay.

“Shhh,” she breathed. “Listen to me…”

“No, don’t speak, you are going to be fine!” he wanted her not to talk because he knew she would make her goodbyes, and he couldn’t have that. Not now, not, after all this.

“This is me,... dying, right?” she was aware of the monitors and the many people around her.

“I will not let this happen,” he brushed her hair out of her face, smearing blood on it. “Don’t be ridiculous, I will not let you die.”

“Promise me something,” she reached for his hand. “Promise me to go on, promise me to…,” she groaned up in pain, and Randall broke out into tears.

“No!” he cried. “God, don’t do this to me, don’t! Clara! Clara, my Clara!” Why was this happening? Why now? Why Clara? Randall was suddenly feeling sick, nauseous and everything started to spin.

Clara touched his face lightly, and he pulled himself together, as far as possible, “Promise me to be great…, and remember…,” life was draining away, and there was nothing that could be done, “Remember that I love you, remember that!”

“Don’t say goodbye, don’t do that!" Randall never had cried so much in his life before. He started to sob uncontrollably into the crook of her neck, pleading to stay with him. "Don't go. I don't want you to go."

Her hand held the back of his head as long as she could and then fell down.

When Bel reached the hospital, she had to pick a crying Randall up from the floor, and waited patiently at his side, till he had made his final goodbyes, before they took the body of Clara Oswald away.

She signed some papers for him at the reception desk, watching him sit on a stool. Lost, away. Blank.

Sometimes stories don't end like we expect them to. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me! I'll explain everything after the next chapter. Also... sorry.


	30. 30_Clara O.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later. Randall has left the magazine and has started a new life. With Clara gone, it seems life will be unbearable, but not only he will find out that the universe sometimes works a bit different as we all think it works. LAST CHAPTER!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys still with me? I know, I overran you with Clara and letting her die, and you might all mad at me. And you have all the right to be, but to be honest, this end, you definitely should read, was the end I had in mind since from the very beginning.
> 
> This fic was nothing I thought it would be. It went from love story to Tom Clancy and what is this?! I struggled very with it, and pondered about to give it up, and I am sure not everyone finished this story, but that's how it is. I can even understand it. Now I finally finished it, I am happy I did, and I went through with it. It surely never will be my favourite story but it has almost 100k words, and has cost a lot of work. And I am proud of it. 
> 
> Thanks to all my reader who followed this story, who accepted this stormy journey, all those twists and turns. Thanks for your comments, your kudos and your patience. 
> 
> Enjoy the end.

One year later

After Clara’s funeral, Randall did what he had to do, and what he had wanted to do long before he had met Clara. He resigned — leaving his job in London and the rest of the Newspaper Band behind.

Knowing she couldn’t talk him out of it, Bel not even tried it. He would break over the grief and every day more in the office, would keep reminding him of Clara. The loss was too huge, and Bel understood that the only way to save himself was to leave.

In his case, Randall moved to Glasgow. The city of his youth and he quickly found a place to live and a little newspaper he could contribute too, without being too involved. He made little money out of it, but he didn’t need it, he had made savings over the last thirty years and could go without a proper job for a good long while. To stop completely with the writing and the journalism was almost impossible and so he had taken the job, he had read about in the local newspaper.

They had been a bit perplex that someone like Randall wanted to do the job; usually, an intern or a student did, but after he had told them, he just wanted to write and wasn’t interested in the full pay, they accepted, and everyone was happy.

Over the time — without his assistance — he found himself giving little lecture hours in the evening to the young writers. They met up over coffee and tea, talking about writing, journalism and life in general. At first, he hadn’t been keen on doing it, but one of the stuff, a boy that reminded him of Freddie kept asking, and suddenly he found himself in a room with eager young people.

After a few of those meetings, Randall realized, he had fun with it, and it was sort of a therapy for his beaten heart and step by step he learned to live again, and it took away the temptations of seeking the alcohol as relief.

Bel had been left in charge of the magazine, and Freddie filled the gap Clara left. Danny got his earned long-term contract and Randall was sure after he's gone, they soon would find a capable new Head of News.

They all returned to their normal lives, and the magazine got praised and awarded, now having a bright future in front. Randall was sure, he would keep hearing about it, and its staff - the Newspaper Band.

Something Bel had added into the magazine, on the last page, where the legal notice usually was, with all the names of the magazine’s makers. A little reference and he always smirked when he saw it — reading the paper still.

They called from time to time, or met up over Skype, just for the fun of it. The closest contact he kept with Bel, and he was grateful for her support and her friendship.

“We miss you, Randall.”

“I miss you guys too,” he smiled into the camera, knowing he never would go back. “Editorial conference at 9, don't forget!” and with a wink he left the conversation.

It was then when he heard some clatter and banging from outside in the hallway. It was usually a quiet apartment building, so he wondered what was going on. Earlier in the morning he had seen a bigger truck in front of it, so there was a chance someone new was moving in. The apartment across his flat had been empty for a few months, as the older lady that had lived there had decided to marry the love of her youth — with 76. Randall had been happy for the old lady, thinking, that there was still hope for him.

Another clatter followed by a muffled swear made him stand up and open his door. Across his door, was the apartment door wide open, confirming that someone was moving in. On the inside and the outside of the floor a dozen boxes and bags — quite chaotic.

Glancing around he tried to spot the new owner, seeing a woman come up the stairs, holding two big boxes in front of her face, and Randall saw it coming, that she would fall soon over one of the other boxes. And so he quickly stepped up and, at least, prevented the boxes from falling, when the woman, banged against one with her left foot.

“Oh, no!” it called behind the boxes and the upper box landed in his hand and he was glad it was not a heavy one.

“I got it!” Randall placed it quickly aside, reaching to free the person from the other box. “You okay? You look like you need help.”

The person let Randall take the box, and turned quickly toward the one she had bumped into, grumbling in a familiar accent — not a Scottish one as Randall noted, “Darn box! I hate moving, it’s the most horrible thing to do,” she turned around again, brushing her long brown hair out of her face, giving Randall a bright smile, “Thanks so much, you are my saviour, all my CD’s are in the boxes.”

He needed everything in him, to not let the box drop. Instead, he clutched onto it, staring at the woman in front of him. Could this be possible? “Clara?”

“Yes?” the woman frowned at him, her eyes traveling over his features. “Sorry, have we met before? I am terrible with faces sometimes. Aside I just moved in, and I haven’t seen anybody yet, so… You're okay?” slowly she took the box out of Randall’s hand. “You look like you have seen a ghost.”

Randall swallowed, watching her place the box down, and for a moment he thought he had imagined her face. Clara’s face, her brown eyes, the familiar arch of her brows, the round face, but when the young woman turned back to him, it was still the face he had thought he had imagined. Clara’s.

“Clara!”

The woman considered him, unsure what to think of it, “Yes! Okay, I give up, do we know us? Because I have so no clue who you are.”

Randall pointed at himself without saying a word, and Clara — the new Clara — leaned slightly forward hoping he would speak up soon, “Are you really okay, because you not look like it. And you don’t act like it.”

“I am sorry,” Randall stepped back a bit. “I… I know it sounds odd, but your name is not by any chance, Clara Oswald?”

“Uhm,” she smiled at him, and he was glad she didn’t see him as the weirdo he apparently resembled at the moment. “No. It’s Oswin. Clara Oswin. Just moved in! Obviously!” she held out her hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Randall reached for it.

“Brown. Randall Brown.” How was this possible? “It’s just… you look familiar.”

“Yes? Who do I look like?”

“Someone I knew,” he explained. “A woman.”

Clara smirked, “It would so not speak for both of us, if I would remind you of a man, wouldn’t it?”

It made Randall chuckle, “It wouldn’t yes.”

Clara thought about what to do for a moment, and then bend down, grabbing a box and gave it toward Randall, who took it without questioning, “Who was she? Your wife?” she grabbed herself another box, babbling along and walked inside of the apartment. Randall followed, what else could he do?

“No.”

“Girlfriend then,” Clara turned around. “I remind you of your girlfriend? Man, she must have broken your heart.”

She was different as his Clara, Randall noticed. More bubbly and talkative, and yet the way she moved and the way her curiosity shined through, he was reminded strongly of her.

“What has happened? Has she left you in a big scene? Or have you been so stupid to leave her?” she shoved one of the boxes into a corner and then took the box from Randall doing the same. “I have an ex, I was madly in love with him, but it didn’t work out, and I left him. The thing is, I still see his face sometimes. In other people. It’s strange.”

“No, that’s not how I meant it,” Randall snapped out of his observations. “When I said you look familiar, I meant; you look exactly like her.”

“Exactly?”

“Her hair was shorter,” he admitted, giving her a coy smile.

Clara stepped up to him; she had even the same high as Randall’s Clara, and so she had to lean her head back, so she could peer at him. Her arms akimbo, her eyes got small. Randall expected her to tell him now he better left, that everything he said sounded a bit creepy and he better never ever should speak to her again. It might have been his reaction.

“So what did you do, to make her go away?” her curiosity got the better of her. Another trade she shared with Clara Oswald.

Knowing how it would change the mood, he cleared his throat before answering hesitant, “She died.”

“Oh…,” Clara swallowed and stepped back, blushing in embarrassment. “I am sorry, that was tactless then.”

“It’s okay,” Randall reassured. “It was an accident. A year ago. You couldn’t know.”

A strange silence fell between them, and while he looked at her, seeing the woman he had loved so much, he tried to find out what was happening at the moment. Where did this girl come from? Why did she look like Clara and how was such thing possible? It was impossible; that was what his mind told him. The girl in front of him was impossible!

Suddenly afraid, afraid he was dreaming, and his heart and the universe played a mean trick on him, he swirled around so he could go back into his apartment, and lock the world out again. Maybe it was time for a drink.

“I am sorry, I not wanted to bother you,” he mumbled turning around, almost falling over one of the boxes. “Good luck with moving in, it’s a quiet place, old people mostly. Half deaf, so no one bothers when you turn up the music a bit,” he didn’t know what he was saying, he only knew, the way out of her apartment into his suddenly seemed like a mile long.

Clara Oswin watched the man stumble over her boxes in the most awkward ways, and she usually would have brushed it off, but something in him made her follow .

“Oswald you said?” her voice reached him when he was about to close his door. “I think my grandmother’s last name was Oswald before she married of course.”

“What did you say?” Randall came back out.

“That my Grandmother’s maiden name was Oswald, … yes, it was Oswald,” she wrinkled her nose, thinking about it. “But it’s not such an uncommon name, isn’t it?”

“It isn’t,” Randall looked at her lost. Maybe the universe wasn’t playing a mean trick; maybe the universe was doing something entirely different here. "It’s odd nevertheless.”

“It is,” Clara smirked, and huffed. She wasn’t sure what to think of the man in front of her. He looked nice and kind that she could see in his eyes. Hurt also, and she believed him what he had told her about his dead girlfriend, that apparently had looked like her. A strange story but Clara Oswin was one who liked strange stories and, therefore, she liked Randall. “So, Randall Brown, I conclude you moved her when …”

“Yes, I did. From London.”

“London? Oh, I love London!” she cheered. “What did you do there? Work I mean?”

“I am a journalist, I used to work for a magazine,” he shuffled around with his feet on the floor before he passed her and grabbed a lamp that stood there, to carry it into her apartment. Clara followed with two bags of clothes. “I basically retired… well not retired, that word makes me sound ancient. I resigned, and now I work for a little newspaper near the University.”

“I never met a journalist in my whole life; I am sure you have a lot of stories to tell,” she placed the bags in a room that inherited a big mattress but nothing more. Her future bedroom.

“Can be, yes,” Randall shrugged. “And you? What are you doing? Why have you moved here?”

“New job, more or less. I finished my master in engineering.”

“Engineering? Wow!” Randall was impressed. For some reason, he had thought she was a teacher, and it only proved that this woman was not his Clara. “Any speciality?”

“Yes, I work for Glasgow Aeronautics. Well, I will, starting Monday there,” she explained, reaching into one bag, pulling out a little brochure giving it to him. “I am basically building the spaceship of the future.”

Randall glanced over the text, “That’s very impressive.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, and he found himself smile back. Suddenly she had an idea and pondered over it for a moment. “Ahm, how about tea?”

Surprised by her offer, he nodded, “I would love too.” Randall exhaled and gave her the brochure back. Then he glanced around in her apartment, “Have you even unpacked everything for the tea… or?”

“Oh, well, no,” again she blushed. “Damn it. I didn’t think so far,” and then she looked over his shoulder toward his apartment and he got the hint.

“May I ask you to join me for tea in my place? It’s right around the corner,” he joked, and Clara giggled.

He knew it wasn’t her, but on the other side, it was comforting that there seemed to be little bits of Clara Oswald in her. The smile was the same, the way she giggled and wrinkled her nose. Her forwardness and Clara Oswin was extremely clever, something he had always loved in Clara Oswald.

“That would be wonderful,” she clapped her hands and followed him only to give into her curiosity once more after a moment, “And you say, she looked exactly like me?”

“Yes, she did,” he let her in. “I know you don’t believe me because it’s impossible-”

“-No. I do believe you,” she stopped him, again taking in his features as if she wanted to make sure, that she indeed never had seen him before.

No, there was no familiarity. Brand new face. Brand new friend.

“Why?” Randall asked carefully. “Everyone else would have told me five minutes ago, that I would be crazy and be some old sod stalking a young woman.”

First she shrugged, then she smiled at him, “I don’t know. The story is a bit crazy, we both know that, but… it’s your eyes.”

“My eyes?” he rolled them, making his eyebrows go up too.

“Yes, they’re kind, and you don’t look like the person you just described,” she said. “I like you. And not only because you helped me carry some boxes and will serve me tea — what is a big bonus point. I just think you say the truth and …”

Slowly he passed her, pulling out two mugs from the cupboard, “And?”

“Well,” she settled against the counter watching him prepare the tea, “you know what they say, don’t you?”

Randall filled one mug with the hot water, then the other. Carefully, calm and since a long while with a certain ease in his heart. Taking the mugs, he turned around, and placed them on the counter, showing one over to Clara Oswin, “What do they say?”

She answered his question with a soft smile, watching one of his grey curls fall into his forehead, “That we all have a doppelganger somewhere in the world.”

End.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say it's an end with many little hints, and the last two chapters leave room for many speculations. The magician. Clara Oswin. Who was the woman in the parking spot? Mh... I am sure when you think about it, every little DW hint will fall into place and the rest of the story also. 
> 
> Was it necessary to kill of Clara? Probably not, but as said, stories do not always end like we want them to end, and when you remember I mentioned the doppelganger a while ago, so I didn't come up with it out of nothing.
> 
> I would love to see you leave one last comment about this fic, and thanks again so much for the read!


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